


Junktown Justice

by Palmira



Series: Project Leviathan [2]
Category: Fallout 4, Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Bitterness, Comfort, Drug Use, Eventual Feelings, Fallout, Human Robots, M/M, Mentions of addiction, Monster Fights, Mourning, Outdoor Sex, Rough fluff, Surgery, Violence, gunfights, patching up a relationship, patching up friendship, pit fighting, severe bouts of madness, superhuman abilities, synthetic humans, two old men bitching at each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 10:16:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 89,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9651443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palmira/pseuds/Palmira
Summary: Levi has well and truly lost 'his' life.There is no way to reclaim his freedom if he doesn't find out who he is, and now there is the shadow of another man following him: Ackerman.Levi can stick to Erwin, who has already betrayed his trust once; to Hanji, who keeps an alarming number of secrets from him – or to the Junktown, who may be just as interested in Levi's abilities as the ones he has to run from.And those don't sit idly.(This story uses the universe of Fallout: I will try to avoid technical terms from the game, or explain them accordingly)





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I am happy. I suppose I do need to point that out because... well. I will absolutely do my best to follow up with something worthy for Ashmaker and continue to drag you guys through the wastelands as long as you'll bear with it.  
> The majority of people who reviewed don't seem to play Fallout, so I will add more explanations; if they can't be embedded into the story, I will put them at the end of the chapter so they don't disrupt the flow of reading. The world of Fallout has 'ended' in the fifties, but some allusions in the story actually happened later (for example the creation of Erwin's favorite song) – please be tolerant with those.  
> As a last point, if you do want to listen to something, you could try Saint Motel's “Benny Goodman”. I usually don't go round advertising music, but this one song is like the hymn of Fallout 4 around here, due to a very popular Let's Play that also won me over for the game. If I'm stuck, I turn it on. It's just the feeling of Fallout.  
> Enough rambling now. Enjoy!
> 
> ... Also, I promise it will get better between those two. In their own way.

(If you have not read 'Ashmaker', please drop by there first – you'll receive massive spoilers otherwise.)

 

The rubble under the soles of Levi's boots crunches, he has to set his feet carefully to avoid tiny avalanches that would give away his position.

The bomb crater goes deep, a relic of a weapon so powerful its kind destroyed the world as it was and with it most of the population. The slimy little pond in the center far below Levi still oozes radiation and makes him feel an unpleasant tickle in the pit of his stomach, warning him of the more severe symptoms of poisoning if he should descend.

Or is he imaging that? If he climbs down, will he feel the sickness, or was Ackerman strong enough to absorb radiation, or even immune?

Levi no longer knows, and that drives him to test it. Deep inside, he feels compelled to do it, be equal to the man whose body, character and abilities he has inherited with the perfect copy of the genetic blueprint.

And it's bitter because he can't. No matter how strong Levi is, he can be no match for the _original_ , the man he's shaped after, since nothing is actually his. Everything he can achieve is done with borrowed power, and now that Ackerman is dead, he can never be outdone.

Especially not by his own synth.

Levi glances into the bottom of the deep crater again, then slowly turns and climbs back up. He still feels like he's lost an undefinable contest of strength just now, and it's not the first time that disgusting sentiment comes up. Nor will it be the last.

If he looks at it that way, then yes, it's very easy to hate Erwin for this. If it wasn't for him, life would be a lot simpler, quieter, and Levi would not be on the run. With two psychopaths, one of them equipped with a full set of power armor that possesses enough clout to punch through massive walls.

Levi passes the chunky beast on his way through the bomb-torn village, glances at the fogged visor. In the early hours of morning, dew collects on the scratched steel surface, and whenever they stop somewhere, Hanji begins to hammer at it with a vigor that makes Levi wince. It's fucking _loud_ , and what's even worse is that the things that try to track them don't have to rely on sounds. Advanced technology with thermal images and vibration scans, if they're unlucky. Levi has no idea how much of that paranoia is justified, yet it seems better to be over-cautious for now.

For some reason, he stops just after he's passed the power armor; something alerts him, and his instincts are one of the very few things Levi can still trust. His hand slowly creeps to the worn grip of his shotgun in the holster under his coat while he angles his head to pick up the wind and listen intently. His senses, _Ackerman's senses_ , are noticeably sharper than the average man's, and combined with his experience on survival, he's aware of everything in his surroundings. This time, he senses the threat on a basic level and acts accordingly.

He smells blood.

Slowly moving back to the power armor so he can take cover if need be, Levi curls his finger around the trigger of his double-barrel shotgun, then glances up at the helmet of the armor. The eyepiece is fogged up, but he can wipe the dew away and use it as a mirror for the ruins around him, catch any movement in an area that provides too many hiding places among the rubble. Levi reaches up to do that; he has to stand on his tiptoes to rise that far, stupidly huge thing-

His palm brushes the moisture, and the fraction of a second later, Levi recognizes wide, dead eyes inside the armor that blindly meet his. He instantly flinches and jerks his hand back, realizes that there's blood slowly trickling from a small gap between the armor plates of shoulder and neck, thickly because no heartbeat pressures it on...

Levi whirls around, but just this time, he's not fast enough. The knife behind him is always faster.

 

Levi is awake within the instant of a shudder; he knows he can't have slept for longer than a few minutes, yet his heart is pounding, he feels cold sweat above his upper lip and the ache of his tightly clenched fists.

Sleep. He can't sleep. He doesn't trust enough to relax, and once he dozes off, the dreams haunt him: not with the prospect of death, omnipresent in the wastelands anyway, but with the shadow of the man killing him.

Most of the time, he feels like it's Ackerman delivering the lethal stab. Sometimes, it feels like it's Erwin.

Said man is sitting across from him, knees drawn up to his chest and his bare face caged by his arms to keep the draft away. He seems to be asleep, he should be, but the laser rifle lies close enough for him to take and unlock it within a second.

At least that's how he has to react if anyone approaches, though after four days of brisk travel and a maximum of rest at five hours (reduced to three by now), weariness takes its toll. It sets Levi on edge, even more so because every difference between him and them – them humans – now seems exaggerated.

Hanji raises their head at his movement, brown eyes sunken and with dark smudges of machine oil nearly on every inch of skin now. The quiet hostility there at least is comforting: the doctor with their massive set of armor is alive and well and utterly focused on getting rid of their traveling companions. Levi can't even blame that sentiment, he's eager to get the both of them out of his sight, too.

Or the three of them, rather. The deactivated synth Hanji drags along is something that turns out to be a thorn in Levi's flesh, the constant reminder what he is. He ceaselessly feels the need to watch it, wary that it might not be all that 'dead', just waiting for the command to attack. Which would leastwise give him a reason to destroy it before Hanji can dig around in it and possibly find a reason why it deactivated in a fight.

Levi is almost scared that they might find something. More of Ackerman's secrets. More power that isn't human.

Hanji sighs quietly and tugs at their goggles to rub at the red imprints at the temples that the bands have left during the constant wear. Even with the little light they have, Levi can see them. Smell the grease in their hair along with the sharp tang of sweat. He hears the croak in her voice that blurs the hint of her Irish accent, the static rustle of her jumpsuit. And even without touching them, he knows their skin is cold and clammy.

Chems are the answer to his insomnia, and they heighten the precision of his senses even more. That itself is as tiring as it is necessary: Levi absolutely can not, will not trust anyone but himself.

They are camping in an old subway tunnel; the draft from the depths of the earth is icy, and everything underground is possibly infested with feral ghouls and close to collapse. But most signal-finders don't reach here, and travel is relatively fast – Hanji's armor requires fusion cores to move, and it's too valuable to leave behind, especially because it can deflect gunfire like it's pebbles.

It also happens to have malfunctions in the oxygen supply now and then, and it has to be hot-wired to enter and get its core pulled out to exit. So Hanji, too, is a little testy, glares as they notice Levi eyeing them over the soft glow of an old Davy lamp. Fatigue has lined their face, but they haven't complained, not ever. They are aware of Levi's refusal to sleep, of his drug-use, and despite their profession as a doctor, there hasn't been a word of warning. Maybe Hanji trusts his metabolism to manage the doses and fend off addiction, or they just don't care. Truth to be told, Levi has never given the consumption much thought – and now, with Ackerman's _fucking marvelous_ traits imprinted into him, he feels challenged to test it. Along with everything else, he can't help it.

“Get some rest.”

Hanji's voice is low and hoarse; compared to Levi, they still speak, although it's mostly short, hissed conversations consisting of few sentences with Erwin that end with both of them apparently getting irritated at each other. Hanji seems to be wary of Levi overhearing them, and he'd care if it wasn't so blatantly obvious that there's disagreement between the doctor and Erwin. Hanji, that much is clear, doesn't trust Levi. On the clinical level of an infant playing with a bouquet of grenades, but still, they consider him incapable of controlling his abilities.

Funny, because he's been in control all of his life. Before Erwin came along.

Again, Levi doesn't grace the remark that can at the most be seen as medical advice with a reaction. Instead, he tugs his fingers deeper into the rough wool of the gunner's mittens and then under his armpits to keep them warm: a stiff trigger finger can ruin chances of survival faster than bad aim. The shotgun is jammed between his knees, easy to reach and stabilize.

Hanji sighs even deeper, then makes the only wise decision of letting him be and leaving him to keep watch if he doesn't mean to sleep. They raise carefully from their crouch and stretch their stiff muscles, then cross the narrow bit of grime-blackened stone between track bed and wall to sit beside Erwin. After a moment of gruff consideration, they lean against him for warmth and close their eyes.

There's no spark of jealousy in Levi, though his wakeful brain wonders whether he simply feels none because he knows it's not an affectionate gesture, merely a necessity since Hanji may be tough, but not that used to rough living and can't sleep if they're shivering from cold.

Erwin stirs at that, if he's been sleeping at all – there's that tiny twitch going through his arms and hands. He doesn't move, forehead pressed against his knees. He probably gets a crick in his neck from that, yet he doesn't want to startle Hanji.

Or he avoids Levi's gaze. Weariness does strange things to all of them, and to Erwin, it draws everything deeper into himself until there's only robotic functionality.

Levi averts his attention from the unwanted sight, going back to watching the tunnel. His eyes sting from the cold draft, they feel dry and itchy: maybe he's getting ill. Aside from fever kindled by infected wounds, he has never been ill – should be interesting to find out then.

Levi grimly runs his tongue over his cold, chapped lips and settles for waiting for it.

 

It's hard to keep an internal clock in the weatherless darkness, but before Levi can end the all too short break, Erwin's head jerks up, eyes narrowed and bloodshot. His blond hair is messy from the constant draft tugging at it, and there's thick stubble covering his cheeks: it reminds Levi on some of the old comic-posters he has seen, some action hero that was popular with children and male teenagers before the War-

“Let's cross the Charles River.”

He's nudging Hanji awake as he speaks, resulting in them clumsily rubbing their eyes behind the goggles and glaring at him through their lashes. “Christ, what's with you and the underground that it puts ideas into your brain like that...” they mumble, then glance at Levi. To check whether he's listening or for support, he doesn't know. His reaction is the same uncooperative, blank stare, and they scoff.

“Current's too strong, water's too heavily irradiated,” Hanji adds and massages their temples. Erwin is already halfway up, carefully loosening his stiff muscles with subtle focus on his scarred leg. His eyes move restlessly, checking their surroundings while he frames his plan.

“Not for your armor,” he replies with a curtness that tells Levi he's not discussing the pros and cons: he has his mind made up. And changing Erwin's mind once it's set is a task that requires time, patience and something preferably metallic and hard to knock against his damn skull. Hanji has only one of those.

“You can walk through the river and cover the tracks while Levi and I cross over at the dam. Then we meet in Cambridge.”

“That's a stupid idea for a number of reasons, _eejit_ ,” Hanji grumbles, the Irish accent grows more prominent with tiredness and the circumstances, drifting into words Levi can't guess the meaning of. In this case, however, it's very likely an insult.

Erwin, as expected, isn't fazed. Levi recognizes the steely expression, but by now he knows Hanji's equally stubborn nature. The chems still drumming along his veins, Buffout this time, build a wall between him and these two people fighting over something they have yet to explain fully. They said 'later', when there is safety. Foolishly, Levi has accepted these terms because the memory of the synth assault was fresh in his mind – by now, he doubts anyone could still track them. He'd even suspect more foul play, if he didn't consider the odds pretty even for a fight; even more so if they split up.

“It's the only way to prevent the armor from running out while calling in nobody else,” Erwin continues, as if there had never been an insult thrown his way. “And we can hide and resupply, at least for the time we need.”

“If you make it there,” Hanji remarks woodenly, “because you know as well as I do that you can't protect the package once you run into another ambush. If he doesn't make a hames of you first, that is.”

It takes Levi a moment to comb through the slang the doctor uses and the accent that adds up with Hanji's anger; then he realizes that they calmly speak of him killing Erwin along the way.

Not that he hasn't thought of it, long and hard, for entertainment purposes. But _what the hell._

“Are you fucking serious,” he growls, his voice once more the raspy growl that the lack of use and a dry throat have caused.

Hanji has had no problem with Levi keeping watch, and yet leaving him alone with Erwin will turn him murderous? It doesn't even make sense, aside from poisoning the relationships even further. Levi hasn't thought it possible.

“In a way.” Erwin's tone signals that this is clearly one of the points Hanji and he can't agree on, but he's forced to act if he means to avoid escalation. Despite his weariness, his eyes are lucid and bright, brighter than they have been in days.

Just to make this complicated, Levi points his shotgun at him and draws his lips into the shadow of a snarl as he hears Hanji inhale sharply.

“You know why people are scared of synths.” It's not actually a question: synths replace common people for unknown reasons, infiltrating settlements and sowing distrust and fear with the threat of their presence. Levi no longer knows whether he should consider himself fortunate that the man he's replacing is dead.

The shotgun doesn't lower. Erwin doesn't seem to have expected it to. His voice somehow is less strained than Hanji's, quiet so it doesn't carry far through the echo of the tunnel, but in it's way, impossible to ignore.

“It has been observed that generation three synths – your type – often have implanted controls to react to certain situations or radio stimuli.” Erwin pauses for a second that seems appropriate to let Levi process this information, though it could be just as well mean precious time for Erwin to arrange his next words. “It's commonly referred to as the 'death switch' because it seems to serve as a last resort circuitry to protect a synth's secrets. Generally through lethal violence.”

Death switch. Levi has heard that term before, albeit not necessarily connected to synths. However, he remembers being told about one or two incidents where people suddenly erupted into brutal violence that seemed to have no cause. Old stories, sure, but they linger and fuel people's anxiety.

And now Erwin says he's got one of those.

“I mentioned that before you punched me,” Hanji interjects carefully, eyes trained on the shotgun. “Where we are headed... I can scan you, though not even that fully warrants that your component doesn't have a device. Erwin is convinced that if you had one, it would have activated years ago.”

Levi clearly hears the doctor's doubts about that hunch in their voice – they can't suppress them at gunpoint, apparently. So he doesn't lower said gun, and Hanji sighs, obviously already regretting stepping in. “I'm not so sure, but it's well possible that every modification from Ackerman seemed too much of a risk for the project. Besides, it could have put their precious Leviathan under Institute control without their permission.”

It makes sense. It usually does, if Levi wasn't becoming increasingly wary of everything that appears to teach him more fear of himself. More reasons why he shouldn't be on his own, why he is in constant danger. Every bit of information about his origin seems to end in itself, with no way for him to verify what others tell him, so why shouldn't the death switch be another invention, another boogeyman like the mention of the Institute?

Although Ackerman is real. And with him, the memories that are sealed. Levi can feel _something_ just out of his reach, and he's reluctant to even search for it because it... does not belong to him.

The thousand-caps-question is whom it belongs to instead: Ackerman or the Project.

Levi feels the cold that has already claimed his fingers again, freezing them into a stiff form around grip and trigger. The draft picks up and blows into his face, forcing him to blink as icy air pricks his eyes and nose.

He shoves the shotgun back into the makeshift-holster and turns his back on the others to gather his belongings. His mouth tastes bitter; he could have demanded more explanations, more of anything, and yet against reason, he shies back from taking more from them.

“Levi.”

Since Levi's refusal to communicate more than absolutely necessary to avoid endangering them, Erwin has given up trying to speak directly to him – this is the first time in days he addresses solely Levi.

So again, he doesn't turn around to face him. What Erwin has to say, he might as well tell his back.

“You won't kill me.”

It could be an expression of trust as well as one of self-confidence. Levi feels the tug at his lips like something alien through the cold muscles in his face; he looks over his shoulder, black hair fanning over his forehead but not his eyes. The rasp in his voice strips his words even more of a personal, _human_ note.

“I wouldn't be so sure of that.”

 

In the end, Erwin comes out on top. Metaphorically and physically, as they leave the subway tunnels through a station.

Century-old skeletons crumble under his boot when Levi first sets foot onto the faded tiles, snapping like rotten wood with a dry crunch that reminds him on brittle plastic. He instinctively places his steps with more care to avoid the sound, then Hanji climbs up the departure platform and crushes bones to dust with every movement. The smell of pulverized, dead substance nearly makes Levi cough, the downside of stimulant chems strikes with vigor as it assaults his olfactory sense while the station's tiled walls reinforce every creak and thump the power armor makes, setting off a headache through his ears.

Levi covers his nose and mouth with his sleeve and settles for a glare. It glances off at Hanji's steely helmet even before they deactivate the headlamps glowing from the eyes: despite being out of order for more than 200 years now, the station is still lighted, occasional announcements for trains that are long rusting crackle through the speakers. The miracles of nuclear power.

And above the stairs leading back to the surface, there is a painted skull grinning at them, its mouth sewn shut and an X across the forehead.

Hanji exhales loudly, the air filters hiss with an eerie echo. “Greeting old friends, are we?”

As a response, Erwin draws the laser rifle – so suddenly Levi doesn't immediately tense in alarm – and fires a shot into the territory marking: its paint rapidly burns black and flakes off in fine chips, leaving only a sooty patch on the wall. Again, the echo of the energy missile carries through the tunnels, nearly making Levi flinch with every cracking repetition.

For a moment, he can only stare at Erwin in disbelief at his idiocy, and even though Hanji's face is covered, they probably do the same right now.

Even stranger, Erwin answers with the ghost of a smile and lowers the smoking rifle; a man with his sense of caution does not even show remorse at doing something so unnecessary and loud that might give away their position.

Someone is well and properly losing it here.

Hanji turns to Levi again, their voice obviously struggling to remain calm and no louder than necessary. “I don't need to explain to you that we're on Gunner territory,” they say, the words nearly end in a rustle as the ventilation seems to act up again. “And I know you won't listen to this, but if there's... trouble, at least consider going to Ticonderoga. Huge red building in Cambridge, can't miss it. After nightfall, there are people that can take you away from here once you tell them what you are. I...”

Another forced exhale between those words getting more rushed, like the doctor means to say more and yet knows that with the distrust between them, there is no way Levi will heed their advice, and against better judgment...

“Please think about it.”

Levi stares blankly, both disgusted and cynically amused by the fact that whoever Hanji is talking about only means to help him because he's a synth, as if that alone is justification enough. It doesn't seem to be the reason Hanji is helping him, however; their motivation runs deeper, stems from a more personal level. But the feeling remains alien to Levi, he can't relate to it even if he tries. Complete strangers care for his survival or merely the containment of his genes or _whatever_ and it doesn't move him. It probably should, if this wasn't so intangible, so... strange to him.

Hanji seems to sag slightly, although that is physically impossible with the massive armor surrounding the body, the very embodiment of strength. What kind of sign they have been looking out for apparently did not show, and they seem to be irritated at themselves for even waiting. That, at least, is something Levi knows.

Hanji finally waves a salute to him, then briefly turns their head with a creak to glance at Erwin. But no word is spoken as they hoist the deactivated synth over their shoulder and climb back into the road bed. Signs of flooded tunnels warn anyone to go ahead, and Levi realizes that Erwin has once again forced a change of plan by holding back information: it seems like he knew coming to the surface would be too much of a risk for Hanji, while the doctor was obviously planning to cross the river under the sky like any living being.

It seems he gets more manipulative the further he advances his goal. Because that does not simply happen with fatigue.

Erwin patiently waits for Hanji to disappear into the tunnel and the echo of thumping steps to die out. As if he had never given a signal that will possibly alert the Gunners and might get caught in a gunfight any minute.

Of course, it makes more sense if he used to run with them.

The Gunners are paramilitary mercenaries, trained professionals on every crime that pays enough. Their strict organization, superior equipment and frightening discipline make them a lot more dangerous than any pack of raiders, and larger groups are even in possession of battle robots, nuclear weapons, power armors (hence Hanji's unquestioned withdrawal), and Levi has actually heard of some who have restored multifunctional aircraft.

The only reason Levi hasn't considered Erwin a former Gunner is that they also display brutal loyalty to their force: if you quit, it's either because you're dead or because another band with enough firepower has recruited you and grants protection, and there are few who'd even take the Gunners on. Erwin has never appeared to be on the run from them, despite breaking the codex and losing his honor. Nor does he wear any of their tattoos or imprints on his equipment.

For all that seems to make sense now, Levi isn't fully convinced – something in the scorn Erwin let show for the fraction of a second when he destroyed the territorial mark doesn't quite fit. He has learned that the easiest explanation usually isn't also the correct one when regarding Erwin, and for the time being, it's enough if the bastard has at least some knowledge about the group they ought to avoid.

And he can be sure that Levi will not ask. Not because he doesn't care – the Gunners are serious trouble – but because he isn't the least bit convinced Erwin will tell him the truth.

And Levi will be fine anyway: he will survive, even if it kills him.

 

After the steady draft and the clammy cold in the tunnels, the gray sky of the Commonwealth is a nearly heartwarming sight. Nonetheless a sting on sensitive, dilated pupils, but at least the chill sitting in Levi's bones lifts a little. The sun behind the clouds is a blurry, glistening shape, maybe he imagines it prickling on his skin.

No time to idle anyway. Levi glances at the place they have resurfaced on: he's pretty much lost his orientation underground – what a pleasant coincidence, he definitely doesn't put it past Erwin to have calculated for that – and this town doesn't tell him much either. It seems like the bombs wreaked bad havoc around here, unlike in Boston; no intact building as far as the eye can see, deep craters in the streets where water has collected and soaked through the garbage, piles of rubble mixed with sharp scrap metal that could hide anything.

Levi may not be terribly good with orientation in these landscapes, but why Gunners with their superior fire power would claim this territory is beyond him. Why settle for this dump when you could take a mall or a whole factory from one of the old companies? There's no solid roof anywhere, no connections to clean water or electricity.

Erwin glances at him, bushy brows rising slightly. Though wisely, he doesn't wait for Levi to say something – who would have refrained from that out of sheer obstinacy.

_Fighting over everything._

He doesn't want to remember those words because they remind him that up to some point, Erwin does know him.

“They likely don't have more than a base here, but this area is crucial for controlling the bridges and therefore traffic.”

'Traffic' is pretty much a joke, though Levi gets the concept. The Charles River is deep and fast, its channel has been dug out and the banks sealed before the War. With the place being beaten up like this with bombs, probably only a few bridges are still intact, and finding a passage through the river is dangerous and requires a great detour. It's not a great challenge to deduce the benefit of setting up a base here, and yet it's easier said than done to actually hold the area. Raiders would get driven away or rebel within some months. Gunners seize their territory with precision.

Levi hisses a curse to himself and runs a hand through his tousled hair. He hasn't had a change to comb it properly in the tunnels, not to mention clean his nails or generally wash more than his face and brush his teeth. He feels filthy, and now these fuckers make everything complicated... He should have stuck to Hanji and let them drag him through the riverbed.

Yes, he would have drowned. Some water at least.

They leave the rickety superstructure sheltering the station (or rather, pointing broken metal struts and fractured plastic into the sky), then quickly disappear into the wind shadow of the ruins. For a few seconds, Levi stares up into the destroyed building: little apartments piled atop of another until the house was struck by a bomb that literally tore the structure in half. He can see different living rooms and kitchens going up and up, some furniture hasn't yet fallen into the swath of rubble. There must have been so many _people_ to populate that house, and there are many more buildings like this... For some reason, the ruins make Levi feel more chilled than wading through rotting bones in the station.

Erwin carefully sets foot on the former stairwell, finds it solid enough and slowly ascends; likely to get an overview of the area before they run into trouble. Levi stays put: Erwin is better with these graveyard towns and Gunner outposts, Levi's forte are the wastelands. Though that isn't the sole reason he doesn't follow; somehow, he doesn't... want to go there, imagine the hundreds of lives in there that were ended without those people even knowing what hit them. Dying in their sleep or while cooking food, reading the newspaper, taking a shit, generally not harming anyone...

His high is probably wearing off, that must be it. Knowing he can't really move anywhere and Erwin will take some minutes at least, Levi squats down with his back against the wall and rummages through his pack. He'll be damned if some rubble creeps him out, he's just really tired by now. And really, really pissed. At this point, he considers swimming through the shitty river...

There's one thing that beats fatigue and insecurity, and that's anger. Conveniently, the US Army invented liquid anger before going to hell. Levi pulls the wired syringe out of his pack and willows up his sleeve, baring his lower arm. The veins shimmer blue under his pale skin, pulsing expectantly.

_He committed suicide by biting his own wrists open,_ Erwin's voice tells him quietly from his memory.

Levi almost unconsciously bites his lips, hard. Then he rams the syringe into his vein and unleashes the fluid on his bloodstream.

Unlike many other chems, Psycho has instant effect. Heat races through Levi's arm and up his torso, nearly bordering on pain. He gasps and balls his fist, his head swims for a moment before weariness, hunger, thirst, even the feeling of being dirty fade. There is no ache from his tired muscles anymore, no cold stiffness from traveling underground, no lingering fear of himself –  _if_ there is a death switch inside his brain, he can control it. He's powerful, all doubts are eradicated by a clean, hot anger.

For the first time in a long row of days, Levi actually feels like he's himself again.

He tosses the syringe away and gets up, his hands tingle with warmth now. Psycho isn't his usual chem of choice, so it hits with power; no thought about Ackerman and his resistance to drugs, apparently he wasn't immune to _this_ , right?

Careful steps from above announce Erwin's return – good. Levi really hopes he's found the base, he's itching to fight someone actually worth it. No more running. No more looking over his shoulder. The Gunners don't give a fuck about his genes, all they want is to kill him and loot his corpse if they get the chance.

Erwin joins him, blond hair even more ruffled; the wind sweeping through the ruins creates a hoarse howl around them as it picks up. Now that Levi's anger is channeled and almost sparkling, it's easier to meet Erwin's eyes, see the brisk determination. He _did_ fire at the mark, so he's up for a fight as well, yes?

Levi can tell the other is surprised at his sudden acceptance of eye-contact, but he sensibly doesn't ask. As if he suspects Levi isn't aware of the change in his behavior and doesn't want to draw his attention to it.

Idiot.

“We can go ahead for now, as long as we watch out for noise traps and sabotaged passages. Climbing through the ruins will be safer but slower, so-”

“So we move on the ground.” Levi's rough voice fits his mood, he purposely raises it to be a little louder than necessary, just to see Erwin tense. Not so brave, suddenly... “No time to lose, don't you?”

The muscles of Erwin's lower jaw shift slightly under the dark-blond stubble, as if he's silently chewing on words Levi can guess: it's not merely about him, this is about Levi, too, _no, Ackerman_... Just so fucking important, isn't he?

“Levi...”

It sounds only a hint strained, barely enough to hear, yet that's remarkable for Erwin, who takes everything with stoicism. The Psycho keeps it away, though – the uneasy twinge Levi always feels when Erwin calls him and him alone. It's not important because whatever Erwin wants doesn't _matter_ , he needs to function and keep everything else to himself. That's what he expects from others as well, after all.

“Lead the way,” Levi snaps, flashing his teeth. “After all, you're the only one who knows it.”

Erwin hesitates for a moment, like he means to say more – then he seems to realize the futility of those words, even if he should lay his plans out in explicit detail, closes his mouth and nods. Thankfully. Levi feels no remorse, but not the emptiness that clings to him since leaving Goodneighbor either: nothing of that nasty void that filled him when Hanji asked him to go to the safehouse in the case of Erwin's death.

This would be easier if he even _knew_ what they are hoping for.

They proceed quietly, both of them watching their surroundings, though Levi rather holds out for signs that Gunners are nearby. He gets a glimpse of a few barricaded gutters and barbed wire wrapped around stairways, but no sign of the mercenaries. Unlike raiders, they don't usually leave speared corpses and bloody limbs as decoration, knowing that the smell will attract carrion eaters and worse. Their brutality is a different, methodical kind. Terrible, cold and so very... impersonal.

Levi really yearns to kill some of them.

The tricky task is not finding them – reading tracks of animals and humans is pretty much the same – but getting Erwin to join in. Levi guesses that if he plays his cards right, he can convince him: whether he is a former Gunner or not, Erwin seems to detest their fraction. Who knows what he might have done if he didn't consider it his duty to take Levi 'somewhere safe', wherever that is these days.

“I wanna cause trouble.”

Probably not the best introduction for his task, but at least Erwin glances sideways at him. Levi runs his fingers over the grip of his shotgun, cocks his head. “If they're occupied with us, your friend's gonna get a pretty safe passage.”

Although Hanji can walk through the riverbed in the power armor, there is no telling whether the systems might act up again or what scanners the Gunners possess that could pick up a fusion core's activity. Once the doctor is out of the water, they are in danger. And a power armor can do a lot of things, but it can _not_ outrun anyone.

Erwin has to be aware of that, still he slightly shakes his head. “Hanji doesn't need help,” he answers with finality. No room for negotiation there. Irritation tugs at Levi's nerves, the Psycho whispering to him that he doesn't need Erwin's assistance. Unfortunately, nobody can get high enough to face a group of Gunners alone...

“What's with you bragging about responsibility, all talk as usual?”

They climb over an old, tipped over school bus that blocks an alley, smaller skeletons here that Levi doesn't pay attention to. Everything that's dead can't count for him.

“This is not a pack of raiders. They can't be trapped that easily,” Erwin replies, this time without turning around.

“But they do the same shit.” Kill settlers. Rape them, cut them up, whatever is fun, blackmail, or even take Institute payment for abducting people. Levi doesn't want to guess how many people they have chucked into the river since establishing their base here.

Erwin drops down at the other side of the bus, his left leg momentarily trembles slightly under the impact. He doesn't answer immediately, which Levi takes as a good sign of him thinking about it – or merely trying to end the conversation.

“You know where they are.”

Levi guesses it from the way Erwin moves with more sense of purpose and direction now, from the fact that he hasn't shot the proposal down by stating he doesn't know where to look for clues. The Gunners are experts of camouflage, their claim of the area doesn't mean they necessarily set up a fort – Levi doubts he could spot the base from a vantage point, but Erwin apparently can.

And something else is off: there is the hint of a sharp, nearly rancid smell in the air, almost too faint to notice, if Levi's senses weren't so painfully sharp right now. He might have missed it without the chems in his blood, without the wind shifting favorably. The thrill makes his cheeks tingle until he's almost tempted to smile.

Seems like he's lucky for once.

“You can't do it.” Erwin stresses the words a little, as if he doesn't trust Levi to hear the negation otherwise. “Contrary to what you seem to think, you are not immortal.”

As if he doesn't know that, as if he doesn't think about 'his' death more than ever before in the Combat Zone. Levi becomes aware his lip have peeled back from his teeth in a snarl, his pulse is fast and runs hot, angry. Justified anger, easy anger.

“I'm not asking for your fucking permission, you shitty wimp,” he hisses, “and we both know _you_ can't take me out, so y'can't stop me, either. Come along or fuck off to the hole you crawled out of, but _don't order me around_.”

He may have crossed the line now.

The blue of Erwin's eyes seems to swallow his pupil, leaving only a speck of black in the midst of it. Levi isn't entirely sure what triggered it, and it doesn't matter to him; he feels the grim satisfaction of having struck something vulnerable, something angry with his words and revels in it.

The truth is that he doesn't despise Erwin for telling him about his origin, but for betraying his trust.

The Psycho wraps him in hot, steady ire that can readily be classified as impersonal. Levi tenses, prepared to evade a strike or land a punch, depending on who draws a weapon first – and Erwin possibly is one step away from that, staring down at him as if he wants to shake him until his neck snaps.

“Just why don't you understand...” Erwin's voice is quiet, trembling at the edges, like he drags it out of himself. His fists are balled, empty, Levi senses that he's entirely focused on him; foolishly letting his surroundings out of his sight.

It can get you killed very quickly in the wastelands, and yet Levi is the most dangerous threat for now.

“Is there nothing you put above all else?”

Erwin sounds breathless and uncomprehending, as if he's struggling to imagine it: the absence of one great value that, in Levi's life, used to be survival. Survival above everything else, and now he's...

He abruptly spreads his arm in a choppy motion he doesn't know himself for, sees Erwin flinch on instinct and bares his teeth even more. “Then tell me!” Levi nearly yells, the voice rings in his ears, wiry and unfamiliar. “What _is_ there above all else?!”

He expects something very specific – one of Erwin's fancy terms, freedom, justice, security, he has his way with all those words and Levi only dares him to say them to his face. Maybe that will convince him, even, or it will give him the final push to attack and confirm Hanji's suspicions.

He has never needed a death switch to kill someone.

But Erwin doesn't say anything.

Levi realizes it after the inexplicably long time of a few seconds: that Erwin does not answer, just stares silently. It's not a mute silence, even, the muscles of his jaws work, his throat contracts, even his lips have opened a little. His brows are drawn and create deep, tense creases on his forehead, the blood vessels along his strong neck pulse visibly under his dirty skin.

But he doesn't speak. In a strained way Levi has never witnessed before, though it doesn't matter because there really is no word of answer.

Either Erwin has no great ideal, or he will not share it with Levi. With a synth.

At last Erwin averts his gaze, something he normally does not do, especially not with the prospect of violence so clearly between him and someone else. There is a faint glimmer of sweat along his hairline that might be stress or fear or... anything.

“I'll show you the base.” Those words are flat and clipped. They are everything Levi needs to hear, yet he can't tell what lingers between them – Erwin recovers faster, his face closing up again to his normal, cold facade. “You're right, this can't continue.”

Just like that.

Levi is pretty sure he could be as sober as a robot and still fail to grasp the sudden change in behavior: if there's one trait Erwin does not have, it's moodiness. His odd walk on the capricious side could have a multitude of reasons, albeit none truly seem right. It's enough to give Levi pause for a moment when he's even too startled to be angry.

What the hell is wrong with this guy? Something obviously is amiss, and so far, Levi has never been confronted with the choice – he's never been close to anyone, there hasn't been a need to read a person beyond combat ability and intentions. Digging deeper would mean fighting against the Psycho, his own anger, while ignoring it causes a dull, insecure feeling.

Again, Levi's senses make the decision for him.

As ridiculous as it sounds, it's the beard. It darkens Erwin's face and at the same time softens the harsh line of his mouth – he looks different from the man Levi has trusted before, the man he's had something going on with. The one in front of him seems more like a stranger, and that makes it easy to push absurd ideas away.

Don't lose the momentum.

“Good.”

The familiar adrenaline of an oncoming battle floods Levi's mind, leaves no room for anything else; he has long since learned that there must be a sole focus, no thoughts about the future. It empties his head, makes his blood sing with anticipation and aggression.

“There's something in the air we can use.”

 

Some plans are best made without a clear mind. This is one of them.

Levi finds his body restless with energy as he goes over it again – somewhat amazed that Erwin has agreed to it but not questioning his own tactic. This fight won't leave room for improvisation or silly tricks: Gunners are a whole other league from raiders. And they don't hesitate. If the element of surprise doesn't hit, their lives are probably forfeited.

Levi enjoys the prospect. It's been too long since there has only been an arm's length between himself and death.

The rubble underneath his soles crunches, his ears pick up every sound as he carefully approaches an old underground parking lot: the entrances are nearly blocked with trash and crumbly bricks where the structure has caved in. The garbage itself reeks, and there is the heavy scent of decay, probably because someone disposes of bodies here.

That's what a common person passing through would think, avoiding the parking lot because of the stench without paying attention to it. But Levi's senses are sharper, they catch the peculiar, pungent smell under the rot, he can tell the tracks on the ground apart from normal erosion, gauge their size and shape.

Above him, the sun is starting to set. It's the perfect time – and also the only point that even allows success. Levi feels his heart pick up speed at the prospect.

Slowly, he removes the bottle of Bourbon from his coat. The liquid inside chortles as the cloth stuffed into the neck comes free, and Levi takes out the lighter next.

Both of his hands are full now, there are only about two yards of space between himself and the dark breach in the middle of remaining concrete walls and ruins. If he indeed is out in his estimation, he won't live to see the sunset. If he's lucky, that is.

But Levi feels he hasn't made a mistake anywhere; he's too good, that much hasn't changed.

There is the almost inaudible hiss of something hard and heavy dragging over the asphalt, and Levi lights the Molotov cocktail, then throws it almost in the same motion into the dark space of the underground parking lot.

As the fluid explodes with fire and sizzling sparks from some chemical Erwin has added, setting dry garbage inside aflame as well, the world seems to stutter around Levi.

That beast is _massive_.

When the bombs fell, wildlife all across the continent had two choices: die or adapt to the radiation. While the results were numerous, there has been and still is the exception of a third choice – artificial creation for a war that has been long lost.

What emerged is a type of monster unlike any other, a deadly predator and terrible melee opponent, and a creature that must never be stirred.

Least of all by throwing explosives into its lair and possibly its clutch of eggs. Levi has the fraction of a second to get a glimpse before he _must_ run.

Not a moment too early, as a mighty strike swipes through trash, stone and iron struts and abruptly clears the way for an enormous reptile.

The Deathclaw is huge, easily twice Levi's size even without rising completely; dark, steely-hard scales cover its body, especially the powerful, produced arms that end in the namesake razor-sharp claws – as long as a man's lower arm and slightly curved to tear out whole chunks of flesh. The strong tail acts as counterbalance for the bent upper body, the muscles of the legs already prepare a swift charge while the Deathclaw lowers the thick horns on his head to hit full-on. Its feral roar echoes from the ruins and all across the destroyed city, its glowing eyes settle on Levi with a nearly human malignity.

It might be noteworthy that Levi has never fought a Deathclaw before.

He has survived his only encounter by crawling as deep into a burst sewer pipe as he could, deeper than someone of average built could; it required him to leave behind any equipment that might get stuck, basically stripping him of weapons and armor. And still, the fact that he has managed to hide and eventually escape has presumably been thanks to the stench of the sewer covering his trail of scent and to his ability to hold out for at least a day before crawling back out.

Also, Levi may have forgotten to mention this to Erwin. To be honest, he doesn't know why he's confident they can pull this off, not to say get out alive.

But he has to.

Levi runs to take cover behind a bus shelter – the Deathclaw lunges after him, its claws tear through the acrylic glass like paper and Levi barely rolls out of the way before it can grab him. He mustn't fire his gun lest he gives away his presence to the Gunners, but he also can't run for dear life: once he turns his back on the Deathclaw, its predatory instincts will make it lower on all fours to dash after him, sealing his fate. He has to stay close enough for it to present an easy prey, after the mixture inside the bottle should have numbed its sense of smell.

Should. The gamble is ridiculously risky.

Levi takes in the sharp reptile scent, the stench of rot on its breath that promises blood poisoning from even a scratch of those teeth. He ducks through the row of seats under the shelter, his heartbeat nearly drowning out the screech of claws on rusty metal. Crushed concrete raises dust around him, and for a twisted second, he can't tell where the Deathclaw is.

Between running out of the shelter for clear sight or staying inside, Levi chooses the latter out of pure intuition and leaps back from the open street. He has to head there, assuming Erwin can fulfill his job and the timing matches, but he doesn't immediately do so.

It ends up saving his life.

An arm's length from the shelter, the Deathclaw rears up from clouds of dust – if Levi had chosen to run, he would have been gutted by the spiry horns and met a fast, messy end.

He can't linger to marvel. Instead Levi throws himself to the other side to climb up the remains of the bus shelter, he feels the shards tear at his palms despite the fingerless gloves; blood's no good, he has to hope the creature truly can't smell him for now. Balancing on the last remaining steel bearers, he glances around and hazards a look in the direction Erwin has pointed out. The ruins lie quiet there, a few crows soar up among the buildings.

Levi gathers his strength in his legs, bending his knees slightly, then he jumps before the last of the shelter is ripped from underneath him. The moment his feet touch the ground, it feels like reality snaps back into place like a dislocated joint.

This is the cage. He can't leave if he doesn't survive. Everything is simple and deadly and he lives for it.

Adrenaline floods his muscles and burns brightly with the chems in his bloodstream, and Levi nearly feels like laughing.

As the Deathclaw shoots from the dust with a speed that belies its massive built, he lets it get close; the draft of sharp claws cutting the air tickles his face, and Levi purposefully whirls around, exposing his back for a sprint across the street. He hears the claws scratch the pavement, keenly isolates the sounds: it's on all fours now, and he barely reaches a lamppost in time to duck behind it. His empty hands twitch and ball to fists, long to hold a gun or at least a knife, but not yet, the beast is too fast...

Levi abruptly skids to a halt and turns around just in time to see that the lamppost _doesn't_ stop the Deathclaw – it's rammed out of the way by the sheer force of the horns, throwing twisted metal aside without slowing noticeably, those spires still aimed at Levi.

He has the fraction of a second to think, to realize he can't dive away in time; and even if he can, the sickle-shaped claws of the hind legs will slash him on the ground. In the complete absence of fear, Levi draws his dagger and crouches to make himself as small as possible while conserving as much stability as he can.

The Deathclaw is terribly fast, but it has too much momentum to come to halt in time: a predator expects its prey to die running, not cower, and the concrete slabs of the pavement don't offer enough adhesion for a hard stop.

In that tiny moment when the Deathclaw simply looms over him, Levi thrusts his dagger upwards with both hands to bury it in the vulnerable, softer scales of the belly.

'Soft' is relatively speaking: it takes all of his strength to deliver a stab with enough power to pierce the scales, and the blade immediately snaps as the Deathclaw rears up, its cry is more anger than pain despite the dark blood welling out. The booming howl slams into Levi's sensitive ears and throws his balance off; he staggers as he rolls away and tries to rise, but his eardrums have taken the full blast and leave him without proper balance for valuable seconds.

A Deathclaw doesn't need that much time. The little sting does nothing to slow it down as it raises one of its clawed hands, jaws already open in expectation of blood. Levi scrambles backwards on his feet and hands, almost violently suppressing the urge to draw his shotgun and fire uselessly. Even now, he's aware it will not help him anything, and yet he can, he _will_ get out of this-

From the ruins of an office block across the street, the bright red beams of a laser rifle hit the spiky crest of the Deathclaw, lifting the smell of singed horn. And otherwise doing completely no damage because the thick scale armor absorbs the energy with frightening efficiency.

But it does blind the Deathclaw for a moment, and with the sense of smell temporarily numbed, it's barely enough time for Levi to rise and briefly shake his head back into function before he has to jump back, dodging a near-blind strike of a clawed hand. More energy missiles rain down on the scales and cause a deep, angry growl from the reptile as it faces the choice of pursuing his bothersome prey or hunt for the annoyance up there.

Levi knows what it will do. And it's his cue to dart away and run into the direction of the office block, his survival depending on his ability to both sprint and zigzag to the right extent. The enraged howl behind him makes his ears ring, and he catches a glimpse of a massive shadow from the corner of his eye... and the moderate protection of a doorway is still yards away.

And just when it can't get any worse, one step on the pavement of the other side of the street suddenly sets off machine gun turrets. Either Erwin didn't manage to disarm them in time, or he chanced using them – Levi curses him anyway.

The Deathclaw slows down, the pained grunt is little consolation as Levi stumbles for a moment because a bullet tears through his left arm.

There's still enough Psycho in his system to block out the pain and deny any sound that might give him away, but Levi is surreal-clearly aware of the retained missile in his flesh, of the blood soaking through his sleeve and the oncoming stiffness in his fingers. More bleeding, no good. He'll have to make those bastards bleed plenty to cover his tracks then, that's all.

The office block abruptly comes to life now, sound signals travel between the ruins as the threat comes too close to the base to ignore; Levi probably activated a tripwire as well, but there is no time to dwell as he runs for the entrance. He's not done yet, and he's far from safety. It's not what he'd want.

Someone meets him in the doorway: a young man with sunglasses and a striped bandana covering the lower face, a 10mm pistol aimed at Levi's head. A conscript, no tattoo yet. Lucky him.

Gunners don't hesitate, and Levi can't either, if he doesn't want to alert anyone else. Instead of stopping to fight and losing what little lead he has, he simply braces himself and knocks the man over, his shoulder ramming straight into his chest and knocking the breath out. Wide eyes from behind the sunglasses focus on him now instead of the attacking Deathclaw, and by then it's too late.

Another bullet grazes Levi, this time from close distance, but he's fortunate: it hits one of the armor plates embedded into his coat and probably only leaves a bruise. Levi wrenches the pistol out of the Gunner's grasp before he fully goes down, his left hand is slick with blood and nonetheless aims it to silence the man's cry. The recoil sends a stab of numbness up his wounded arm, and the pistol slips out of his fingers and lands on the corpse.

The hallway has caved in long ago, and Levi's eyes have to adjust with unnatural speed to avoid traps and get in as far as possible – but the Deathclaw already rams its way in, its jaws snap around empty air as the door frame barely prevents it from biting Levi's head off.

For a moment, he stares at it. It's idiotic, but he's frozen for a thin splint of time.

There is that monster, the unequaled top of the food chain, towering before him; its huge body blocks out the light and darkens the hallway, its claws shimmer viciously, the nearly impenetrable scales merely fume a little.

And yet it's not what, or _who_ they call the Leviathan.

Combat boots move on the upper floors, the warning sirens outside fall silent: Deathclaws are drawn to loud noise, and the threat has been identified. Levi doesn't know whether he, too, has been spotted, and he can't linger.

Stairway. He has to get higher. And keep the Deathclaw close.

His second of awe has cost him valuable time, and Levi only realizes how much of it as he turns to run and feels claws graze his back, tear open cloth, metal, skin and fiber – the longest claw hooks under his belt, and it's solid enough to yank him back with force and drag him along.

Back into the door way, back to the Deathclaw. The reptile has jammed its form sideways, one arm reaching father now while the other is wedged outside against the facade. But the head with the sharp teeth, long as Levi's fingers and dripping with infectious saliva, is more than close enough as it reels his prey in.

He won't get rid of his belt in time. He can't struggle free. Again, all he can do is fight.

He's _better_ than this fucking lizard.

Levi draws the shotgun with his right hand, uses what little strength he has left in the other to twist himself around. He just hasn't expected... to be so close already.

The Deathclaw is right in front of him, the horned head so near Levi can see every scale, the shades of yellow and amber in the piercing eyes; the foul stench almost makes him gag, and despite everything, especially despite the fear he should feel, the only thing Levi can think of that moment is how mad he is, how he _damn well refuses to die._

When the Deathclaw opens its large mouth to reveal the rows of deadly teeth and close them around his neck, Levi shoves the barrels of his shotgun between the jaws and fires both shots down its throat.

The first thing that happens is those jaws closing on instinct around the foreign object forced into the gullet, neatly crushing the steel between them as if it were a straw.

The second thing is a roar so booming that Levi's legs give out, making him clutch his head and slip out of the claw's grip as the Deathclaw rears up, withdrawing from the house with a pained bellow. He can't tell whether there is blood trickling out of his ears or he has smeared some there – hell, he wouldn't be surprised if his brain would leak from them.

Every sound is distant on Levi's temporarily impaired ears, but he can discern the wail of sirens again, louder and from multiple directions: Erwin must have found the right terminal to active them all, riling the already maddened Deathclaw to absolute aggression against anything. With the room still spinning and his equilibrium organ reeling, Levi knows he can't stand up, and he can't crawl with his numb left arm. At least there's no pain yet, and the tremors of the Deathclaw's moving feet fade for the moment.

Levi groans quietly and seeks preliminary shelter in a cleared, doorless storeroom, the only option aside from the stairway leading up. He moves by scooting on his butt, using heels and his right hand to drag himself with as little sound as possible while holding the left arm against his chest.

The storeroom is small and offers no cover, can chimes guard the entrance – ironically, Levi can't rise high enough to reach and trigger them. His bloody palm leaves imprints leading into the room, but the Gunners have worse problems right now; Levi can risk catching his breath here.

He grits his teeth as he peels his torn sleeve from the bloody hole to inspect it: he can still see the bullet, and a turret's ammunition usually isn't contaminated because they run hot too quickly. Lead, though, is just as poisonous, and he has to get the damn thing out, even if it will worsen the bleeding. At least that will hopefully wash out the traces of metal...

His back feels sticky, too. Levi is pretty sure the claws merely grazed him, but it's hard to tell with no clear signals of pain, nor can he look at it. And his brain feels like it's turned into coiled wire that scrapes against the insides of his skull.

He's alive, though. If only his gun hadn't been crushed, he could still fight... He's far from done.

The ringing in his ears has toned down a little, even when the sounds from outside still seem muffled and much further away. Levi briefly allows himself to shut them out as he drapes his left arm over his chest, twisting it so he can get a moderately good look at the wound. It doesn't sicken him; he's had to pull objects out of his flesh so often that he's lost count by now, but one thing doesn't change – with blood making everything slippery, it's difficult to get a grip on it. Levi fumbles a little to push the soggy cloth away, then hesitates, stops to think.

Poking around in his arm might not be the best idea if he truly means to continue the fight, and he _does_ , fuck the consequences. Waiting for Erwin to come running doesn't seem wise either, for numerous reasons. Cursing to himself, Levi digs around in his pocket for the strap of leather he normally uses to sharpen his dagger – the one he just broke, this day is shit on his equipment – and clamps it securely around his upper arm. He's had worse, this will do.

Little sparks of pain flit up his shoulders now, settling there with a dull glow that seems to wait for him to acknowledge them. They are good, give the edge back to the situation, wake his senses. Levi tosses his head from side to side as if to shake water from his ear canals, then carefully proceeds to stand up. There are smears of blood on the wall he hasn't even been consciously leaning on, and Levi eyes them soberly for a second, then judges them to be too faint for a serious wound.

He's a little wobbly on his feet, but his regenerative potential once again proves its worth. Levi grimly spits out and steps out of the storeroom.

There's merely that laughable toy of a 10mm, but it's better than nothing, and at least the magazine contains five more bullets. Levi suppresses dizziness with pure stubbornness as he picks it up and approaches the stairway, this time more careful while watching for tripwires and other traps. He hears more energy weapons fire outside: Gunners favor them because of their long range, gruesome wounds upon hit and the impressively low possibility of technical failures such as jammed triggers, exploding barrels and the like.

However, in this case, it also means nobody could tell Erwin shooting from his vantage point apart from their own men firing, allowing him to go undetected until it has been too late.

And now there is a Deathclaw in the middle of their base, wreaking havoc. Levi only now hears the screams, the useless fire, and the corners of his mouth curl.

Merciless.

He takes the stairs, relying on his tactile sense mostly to find the battleground: the vibrations traveling through the whole structure increase and decrease, he keeps his palm against the wall and drags his feet to pick up the direction of the tremors.

Further up. On the roof, possibly. Deathclaws can climb with ease if they're aggravated.

Heavy steps sound above him, and Levi ducks against the wall; most of the banister is long gone, the stairs are cracked and threaten careless moves with a fall down the well. Again, there is nothing to take cover behind, so Levi braces himself to make use of the fact that nobody expects him here.

Then the steps suddenly get slower, and a thought crosses Levi's mind: perhaps nobody expects him here, but the conscript he's killed doubtlessly has been called and failed to respond.

His suspicion is confirmed when a bullet hits the concrete in front of him, where he would have been if he hadn't come to a halt himself. Levi curses himself for underestimating these people; maybe the blood loss does make him kind of flighty.

“Give up,” a male voice with a thick accent Levi can't place commands; the tone is calm, admittedly. “I might let you run.”

That could even be the truth, considering that there is a Deathclaw up there and that man isn't actually dying to stay – either way, Levi doesn't consider accepting the offer. Although he's keenly aware of the bullet in his flesh and the blood trickling down his back, he's alive, and if he can survive an encounter with a Deathclaw, a Gunner won't make him back off.

A feral twist of his lips accompanies Levi's words. “Fuck you.”

More noise from above that he struggles to process: for now, it's enough to know that it puts more pressure on his opponent, who still maintains cover on the stairs above. He presumably has the better weapon, maybe he doesn't connect Levi to the Deathclaw-assault. At least not yet.

Or he's stalling for time. Levi wills the Psycho-fueled aggression down a little, as it keeps telling him to attack and possibly get killed, and that would be plain sad after what he's just been through. The helpless wrath that has driven him to suggest this plan has cooled a bit, allowing him to consider that he's not in top form with his wounded arm. Levi hasn't survived the Combat Zone by ignoring his body; it's the control that counts.

Something on the roof crashes, and dust trickles from the stairs, the ruin itself moans. There are ominous crunches in the concrete, and sweat forms on Levi's temples – he doesn't have much experience with buildings, but this sounds like telltale signs of a collapse. He should back off, possibly, there's no use winning a shootout if he's buried by rubble afterwards-

“Now, now,” the Gunner says, and right that moment, Levi senses he's assumed wrong.

This man knows exactly who's responsible for the assault. He may keep his cool, but he won't let the cause of destruction get away.

Levi's maltreated ears catch a high whine and that, certainly, is something he knows. That's the sound of a gasoline tank close to explosion, and it's coming from above.

Levi darts to the side and grabs the remains of the banister with his right and while forcing his left to hold the pistol; the strap helps, he can curl his fingers with enough strength around the trigger.

And sure enough, the Gunner has heard the same warning and runs down the stairs, gun already aimed at Levi.

There's only time for a glimpse before Levi shoots, then he already swings himself over the banister as bullets rain down behind him. He can't tell whether he's hit the Gunner, and the recoil comes with such sudden vehemence it makes his eyes water. Levi lets himself drop down the stairway as the building crumbles faster now, struck by spreading explosions of flammable or hollow containers.

One has to admit that Erwin is... thorough once he gets serious. Levi can't claim he's being wrapped in cotton wool as he runs to make it out of the structure, glancing over his shoulder while gritting his teeth against the pain.

Nobody follows him. Either the Gunner takes another way out, or he's dead. As the hallway caves in, Levi wonders whether it even matters.

He's not through with this. Whatever remains of the base, he needs to finish it off in case the Gunners reassemble; and he hasn't yet _seen_ the state of the base either. Now is the time to check.

What Erwin has pointed out to him before has been a couple of office blocks, still connected with power supply lines and a few strings from a festive event of some sort. A random arrangement that entirely fits into the scenery, and it's nearly invisible that the supply lines are actually steel cables strong enough for a cable car. The smashed remains of other buildings are incidentally arranged to let the turrets cover the blind spots while the base actually lies between the two connected houses, most of it located in an underground bowling center in the basement of the second block. Though all advertisement of that place has been carefully removed so the group can hide among the rubble like a crab in wet sand.

Not anymore.

When Levi runs around the corner, the street before him has caved in, old pipes and metal pillars stick out like twigs. The air is thick with smoke and dust, it reeks of gasoline and heated steel, and underneath it of death.

The collapse has forced the Gunners out, into the crossfire and the attack of an angry Deathclaw. Even trained mercenaries can't form up unscathed in that hellhole.

Levi doesn't count the bodies – he gets a glimpse of about five from his point of view – and immediately searches for the reptile. He doesn't see it, sounds still seem muffled through the howling sirens, his heart beats faster, more erratic now. Pain crawls up his arm and back, sweat burns in his eyes and his muscles ache from the strain of days.

He feels tranquil. Unthinking. So much more like himself.

It's probably some secretion from the claws. Or madness.

Levi steadies his hand with the pistol and advances, wary of remaining Gunners. Erwin has set off both turrets and whatever he could bring to explosion, the ensuing damage has to be fatal but can't be quantified easily. Levi ducks into the doorway of the second house: the stairway to the basement is blocked, he can see the smoldering roof of the office block he's been in before through the boarded-up windows – they incidentally happen to be placed like loopholes. He senses that the fight isn't over, albeit he can't tell whether the shots he hears are fired by people or turrets.

However, the deep, thundering roar echoing from above is unmistakable. Levi feels the hair at the back of his neck rise and his scalp prickle with the sudden urge to answer, return to the battle and win it. He needs a better weapon... He can take one from a corpse, but that requires going back to the open field when there might be something stashed here. Caution eventually comes out on top.

The stairway to the upper floors is destroyed, Levi has to climb the piled rubble to ascend; it's loose and he needs to avoid noise, there probably is a ladder somewhere that the Gunners use. Though with his wounded arm and this shitty toy gun, it's no option. Levi grits his teeth and sets his feet carefully, uses half-buried desks, filing cabinets and couches as fixtures. The damn place is _perforated_ , who'd even think to settle here-

There is a noise. One he hasn't heard before, and Levi freezes on instinct, tries to locate the source with his eyes. He smells burnt coffee, piss and rotting vegetables, nothing threatening in itself; the next floor is about an arm's length above him, he can reach it with a jump. The noise, a dull thudding, comes from there.

Levi shoves the pistol into his belt and hops up – normally, he can pull himself up with one hand if he swings his legs right, but the floors of the building are mostly made of wood and gas concrete, it might give out. The muscles of his left arm cramp when Levi ruthlessly uses it to grab a ridge, but he's up on his feet in time, pistol raised again.

This floor is particularly shitty off: about half of it even remains, it's bent downwards like a can end and most of the furniture has slid down long ago. Remains of shabby blue carpet cling to the foundation, only two walls are mostly intact. And the lift shaft, though a faded 'out of order'-sign is taped over the cabin.

It's the only place a noise could come from, everything else is clearly laid out. If Gunners can restore power armors and battle robots, they can get an elevator back into function, too. Maybe someone got stuck when Erwin messed with the power supply... Too bad, really.

Levi carefully crosses the creaking floor to push the flashing button next to the lift, where his fingers leave bloody smudges. The doors stay closed.

This is annoying. Levi doesn't know shit about mechanics, but he knows what usually does the trick with electricity and wall-safes: he aims the pistol about an inch above the button and shoots.

In a different building with a better structure and sound fabric, the bullet might have ricocheted and possibly hit Levi instead; only that this is an office block without solid built, and the panel utters a pitiful little flash of light and a puff of smoke before the doors open.

The wave of stale air and unwashed skin rolls over Levi with an intensity that nearly makes him flinch, even before his brain has caught on what his eyes tell him.

The elevator car is filled with people. Not that there is much space, but that hasn't been considered necessary either. There are four, two women, a child and a man. The adults are tied up with rope, none of them carry weapons.

It's the last observation that makes Levi realize how close he's been to shooting on sight because he has not... expected this. He knows Gunners sometimes hold hostages for blackmail, but until this moment, he has solely been focused on killing enemies.

It's madness, then.

The people stare at him, their eyes wide and still with fear – they have heard a firefight and now see a man aiming a pistol at them, likely to finish them off because the Gunners only leave scorched earth behind.

Levi finds it hard to breathe, and it has nothing to do with the smell of the hostages who have been in there at least for days. His voice seems to have crawled into his throat, the vocal chords have clumped together; he manages a grunt and lowers the pistol. He has lost his dagger, but he remembers keeping a shard of scrap metal in one of his pockets that might be sharp enough to cut the ropes; still faster than trying to untie someone with one limp hand while the other holds the pistol. As for the escape-

One of the women erupts into a crying fit once the barrel no longer points at any of them, her shrill sobs are treacherously loud and amplified by the metal cabin, and to make everything worse, her hysteria spreads to the child and makes it burst out in tears as well.

Anyone who hears this will know what's happening. Levi curses and reaches into his pocket to feel for the shard, which makes the other two hostages shrink back, the man starts to shake: naturally, they expect another threat to get pulled out of the coat.

“Quiet!”

The bark of his own voice too loud, but it needs to rise over the weeping – the child stifles its crying a little, no doubt it possesses survival instincts that tell it the importance of being silent. However, the woman is beyond that; the hissing of her fellow female hostage doesn't seem to reach her, and when she notices Levi's gaze, she lets out a thin wail and begins to slam her head against the metal wall of the cabin. The dull thudding is not even that loud, yet it booms in Levi's ears and makes sweat gather between his shoulder blades.

What the hell is he supposed to _do_?

If he enters the cabin, he'll rise panic. The woman doesn't listen, and if she keeps doing this, she can't run from this place by herself, not to mention cause herself serious injury. The others aren't much help either, and they may try to attack him, not believing that he's not a Gunner...

Levi's gaze falls back onto the child: the only hostage not tied down, probably because one of the adults is related to it and it won't try to run alone. Maybe his best chance.

Levi glances at the battlefield beneath him, then crouches; his instincts can't allow him to let go of the pistol even when it would probably reduce the threat a little, and he fixes the child with a stare that makes it fall silent. Levi chooses to interpret this as a good sign, not fear-paralysis.

“Come here.”

The child begins to tremble, its face abruptly tenses.

Great.

Ackerman's voice seemed to hold some kind of almost hypnotic power over people. How... uplifting to see that Levi's apparently doesn't.

He finds the shard of scrap metal and pulls it out, holds it between two fingers. “If I push it towards you, this will fall into the shaft,” Levi explains; he can't inject patience into his voice like Erwin can, it costs him all of his concentration to keep himself from snapping at them.

They are weak. Despite everything they may have had to endure, they are a lot weaker than him. And still he has to give them a chance, because it might be fair, because _you feel responsibility for those weaker than you, up to the point of putting yourself in danger for them,_ Erwin's voice calmly reminds him.

Fuck him, that's not the reason. Levi doesn't even care for that reason, after all.

The child still hasn't moved. Tear streaks have washed grime off the chocolate-colored cheeks; Levi can't quite tell the gender, it's scrawny and scruffy and avoids meeting his eyes. The kid probably doesn't believe him; Levi wouldn't do it, either, but that's not the point. And perhaps he ought to tell them now.

“If you stay, you're all gonna die,” he says with a cold finality of something he's absolutely sure of. “I'm leaving here. You, too – you're free.” He raises the piece of scrap a little, turning it between his fingers without cutting himself on the sharp edges. “Do you even want this?”

The two quiet adults immediately look at the child, although none of them dares to speak; they clearly are too scared of Levi to alert his attention, albeit the worst shock seems to wear off. Even the hysterical woman senses the change in atmosphere; her self-harm slows, she leans her head against the wall and whimpers. Levi isn't sure how much of the situation she grasps, but his focus is on the kid anyway.

It meets his gaze now, eyes wide and dark. They are haunted, older than the face that surrounds them, attentive even when the body is shaking with fear.

Levi doesn't smile to reassure it. This is a deal, not a dancing party – whatever that kind of party implies, he actually isn't too sure.

The child rises. It's a clumsy movement, likely caused by stiff muscles from huddling in a corner for some time, but it understands the urgency and doesn't waste time. Maybe the Gunners meant to recruit it; they prefer to raise and educate new blood themselves to inculcate them with their codex, the deep sense of loyalty is hard to achieve with adults.

Its eyes dart back and forth between the shard and the pistol, feet drag over the ground as if to overcome a physical resistance. The shuffling sounds scratch Levi's patience, but he stays motionless despite his tense muscles that yearn to leap up. If he startles the kid, they won't be fast enough.

They might not be fast _enough_ anyway.

When the child snatches the shard from Levi, the crying finally stops. The silence rings in his ears, he's aware of the responsibility burdening him now – they need to get out of here without catching a bullet or running into the Deathclaw, for fuck's sake – and there is a turmoil in his chest he can't quite grasp. So he shoves it down and rises to get an updated overview and shut his rattled nerves up. Stumbling upon a bunch of hostages has thrown him off balance more than being gripped by a Deathclaw, and there has never been a need to make plans for anyone else...

Weapons. Yes. There are probably none lying around if the hostages have been held here, and that's that. Would it be better if they stay here until the fight is over, or will that trap them again; will they listen if Levi tells them to? Can he trust them to be quiet and avoid another hysterical fit?

The ropes hold, it takes long to saw them through. The kid's on it, he'll admit that, but it's still going too slow, especially since the adults are tied on wrists and ankles and the knots are the work of a professional.

Before Levi can make up his mind, a series of shots echo across the ruins, abruptly cut off by a pained roar and the rhythmic crashes of a body being slammed back and forth between two walls.

The male hostage pales even further, Levi smells the sharp tang of his fear that quickly rises to the borders of panic. “Is that-”

“I said quiet!” Levi growls and fixes him with a glare; he can't risk anyone losing their nerve right now, especially because his eardrums aren't quite over their stun so he can't place the source of the sound precisely, either. Some distance, the Gunners keep their guest properly entertained. It should please him, satisfy his blood thirst, but suddenly he's stuck with these idiots and they keep filling his mind – it's just not fair.

Fire. Fuck, he's an idiot, too.

Levi rummages through his pack until he finds the flip lighter, then harshly beckons for the man to move over to him: the child is still feverishly sawing at the ropes around the ankles of one woman.

The man swallows thickly, then at least deduces that compared to a Deathclaw, Levi is the smaller threat – the irony – and awkwardly crawls out of the elevator. The rope doesn't only bind his hands and feet, but also closely connects the two knots with a string on the front so the hostage can't straighten and is forced to bow their shoulders.

Levi doesn't put the pistol away as he brings the little flame close enough to burn the rope, yet he catches a glimpse of relief on the man's face; the sheer fact that one is freed from restrains, once again in full control of one's own body.

Fleeting as it may be, if the Deathclaw gets them.

Levi pays no mind to the pained gasp he earns when he nearly presses the lighter down on the ropes around the wrists and singes the skin – no time for delicateness now. These oafs won't climb down the ruin quietly, so he needs to check whether the coast is clear, and if not, provide a distraction that at least leaves a chance of escape.

He snaps the last of the ropes with a yank at the burnt fiber and moves over to the woman who has suffered the breakdown before; it requires him to move into the disgusting cabin, where the smell is worse and he feels abominably like he's trapped, yet Levi doesn't question that it's imperative. The woman whimpers again when he reaches for her tied feet, but endures both the touch and the heat of the lighter. It gives Levi some insight of what she's been through.

And not even necessarily with any of the Gunners.

The child has managed to cut the hands of the other woman free, and together they half tear, half untie the rest of the rope, then scramble awkwardly to their feet.

So far, so good. The difficult part comes now, and there is no time to think this through – Levi isn't one for strategy, he acts on instinct, and where the hell is the one guy who's just the opposite?! Bunged up, possibly. And either way Levi can't rely on him to materialize somewhere on this already crumbling structure.

He switches the pistol to his left hand and hauls the woman up with his good one, pushing her out of the cabin; she's disoriented and her temple is bleeding slightly, but she seems somewhat stable for now, if not a great help. The other two adults haven't turned to run while Levi was distracted, which he takes a sign that they might listen. Out of sheer fear, probably, and fear is easier than building trust.

“You scream again, you're dead.”

Levi addresses all of them, the pistol changes over to his undamaged right hand as a confirmation that he's serious. There are only three 10mm rounds left in the magazine, bullets he doesn't really intend to use on civilians, but he needs to make sure they get the message. Three adults could get the idea that overpowering him might be the better choice – gratitude expires extremely quickly in the wastelands, especially under pressure.

Although the hostages pale further, none of them speaks up, giving Levi time to come up with a plan. One without finesse, but it'll do.

The Gunners use the elevator as a cell, and they likely don't climb the rubble to transport supplies up here – it's more likely that they put those into the cable car in the intact building across the street (the one Levi has made a lot less usable), then transport them here. Which means they have an easier way of getting up here, too, and Erwin has made a remark about them maintaining the passages in the wind shadow because of the strong weather effects here.

The fire escape would be the simplest way to achieve that. It's possibly guarded, but Levi can't think of anything else, nor is there a faster alternative.

“Over there.” He points at the wall that looks most stable and leads to the side of the house facing away from the river. “Move, look out for stairs. Don't let yourself be seen from outside.”

It's hard with this ramshackle ruin having more holes than any regular house, but that's life. Levi stays long enough to make sure the little group begins to follow his command, then proceeds to skirt the caved-in floor from the other side; he's swifter than a bunch of civilians unable to move properly for at least a day, he'll be fine. And if there is a guard, he needs a clear line of fire.

Just as he sets his foot on a wooden balk that seems to support his weight, Levi hears a thin squeak behind himself, and the last of his Psycho rush makes him cast a murderous glance over his shoulder – why are these people stupid enough to get captured and then insist to fuck up his-

The child stares at him, or more precisely, at his bloodied back with the unmistakable tears in his clothes. Tears that are too wide for human weapons.

Fear and awe. Ackerman probably knew those two emotions on other faces well.

Levi hisses impatiently, and the child hurries after the adults, crouching behind them to move under the cover of crumbling walls.

The blood loss makes him a little light-headed; not yet dangerously so, only enough for a lessened sense of danger as he hops over the trusses while stretching his arms out for balance. When he jumps, he's nearly weightless.

It's like a game, except that it isn't.

Levi pulls himself through a window that used to separate offices; his left arm is starting to go numb from the constriction, he needs to treat it soon. Or get it treated, if Erwin is still alive – for some reason, Levi expects him to be. Erwin dying in the midst of gunfire or getting torn to shreds by a Deathclaw seems... unlikely. On the level of strength, there is still trust between them.

_Death switch._

Levi grits his teeth and climbs over the shattered foundation to finally reach the lee-side of the ruin.

No guard on the fire escape – lucky him – though the sandbags shielding the stairhead and the lantern behind it tell him there usually is one, watching the surroundings while the sniper rifle is propped up on the barricade. There is a chem cooler as well: locked – not so lucky – and picking a lock is increasingly hard with only one hand functioning properly. Levi chooses the simpler method and pulls a screwdriver from one of his pockets, fixes the box between his knees and pries it open with the force of frustration.

There are a few ration packs that might come in handy if there is time to pick them up later, a military-class telescope and a flare gun: better than nothing, but not exactly what he's been hoping for. Of course the guard doesn't leave his or her weapon here...

Levi freezes as the Deathclaw prowls right under the fire escape, turning its head to sniff the air.

It shouldn't be able to smell him yet... Are the numbing chemicals already wearing off? He's bleeding and sweating, the perfect scent mixture of prey, albeit there must be more people here, dead or alive, who give it off... Still he doesn't move, watches the reptile as it stomps over the rubble.

The Deathclaw doesn't fare well. Levi hasn't had time to gauge the damage his shot into its throat has done, he just knows that it  _did_ hurt, and the Gunners clearly put up a fight with their backs to the wall. Levi can't see the vulnerable belly from above, but the scales are dark with blood, one of the arms is dangling in an unnatural angle and its breath comes with a rattling sound.

Even a mighty predator would retreat after sustaining so much injury. But the Deathclaw has been bred to fight, always fight, regardless of gains and danger: it knows no peace, no satisfaction. If anything, it wants to kill even more.

Levi has made his choice already.

Since the Deathclaw is down there, it's safe to assume that no one's alive in that particular area: the civilians can run from here once the beast is distracted. The flare gun might be good for something after all, though it won't be able to kill a Deathclaw. Erwin has been confident something in the Gunners' base would be powerful enough to get that done, and yet he's failed to show up with that up until now.

Maybe he's not okay after all.

Steps shuffle closer behind Levi, and he raises a hand to stop them – damn idiots are so loud the Deathclaw will hear them once they set foot on the creaky fire escape, and then it'll tear down the whole rusty-

Levi comes to his feet abruptly, ignoring the blur at the edges of his vision that tells him he needs to drink something to tide over the loss of fluid at least temporarily, then carefully retreats back onto the floor. The little group waits, the woman with the bloody temple has clamped a hand over her own mouth but remains quiet: they all understand that giving themselves away means death. Levi regards them for a few seconds, judging their mental strength, their hidden intentions.

The other woman was the first person the kid chose to free, and she has made attempts to calm her fellow hostage, futile as it may have been. Going by her clothes, the tone of her skin and her muscles, she's a caravan worker, someone who rudimentarily knows how to fire a gun, and with her gender in mind, she's less likely to sexually exploit someone in her group.

Levi shoves the pistol grip-first into her hands and curls his fingers around the flare gun; it feels cold and rubbery, the shitty illusion of a real weapon, but nothing short of a rocket launcher can kill a Deathclaw; he'll figure something out.

The woman's eyes dart from the flare gun to the metal stairs, her hands grip the pistol so hard her knuckles turn white and bony. When she nods, it's more like a spasm in the chords of muscle in her neck, and nonetheless she seems to understand.

Levi holds up three fingers to warn her of wasting ammunition, then beckons for them to take cover. Not that any of them are especially trained in wordless communication, it's just there isn't much room for maneuver, literally-

Dust trickles down on them, a small avalanche of rubble – Levi nearly curses through his teeth, and the caravan worker makes a jerky movement with her arms, like she means to point the pistol at the remains of ceiling. No angry roar from below, only the howling wind.

If someone's up there, Levi has to take them out first without giving away his position; so he can't use the flare gun, and his best weapon is a screwdriver.

He has killed people with less.

The Deathclaw has moved a few yards further, barely enough to risk taking the fire escape: it might creak, but at this point, Levi can't rely on his left arm anymore to pull himself up, so that settles it. When he ducks out of the building and back onto the rusty, narrow stairs, he wonders whether this is the most idiotic thing he's ever done.

Probably not, since teaming up with Erwin has claimed that honor.

Despite the wind shadow, the draft pulls at him as Levi carefully climbs the fire escape. Rust sticks to his bloody fingers in flakes and he feels the structure tremble, yet he can't waste time with caution when that fucker up there might screw up his whole plan and his condition isn't getting better. This wasn't meant to be so complicated... Levi leans against the house front for a second to catch his breath and regain his balance.

He senses rather than sees the muzzle pointing at his head from above. His  _shitty_ luck.

Levi means to say something, something of a truce in the face of this threat or some crap at least remotely sounding diplomatic, but he can't; his voice is stuck and he's dizzy, the depth beneath him suddenly gapes, seems to pull at him in a way he's never known. Perhaps it's merely his brain being short of blood because heights have never bothered him, why does this happen all at once?

It feels almost distant when something nudges his chin, it's warm and reeks of smoke and burnt gun oil, an instinct inside Levi insists that it's dangerous, that he must focus on it.

“Levi.”

And still it's the voice that drags him away from the hollow, allows him to keep the dizziness away. The muzzle withdraws and Levi looks up, almost groans with frustration that he can't see a lot up there because the next floor is still a few steep stairs away.

There are sounds above him he can't quite place, then a shadow moves from the ledge where concrete has been broken off, possibly from an oriel or something, do office blocks even have those-

“Come on,” the voice insists, calmly, not gentle but not impatient either. A hand firmly grips Levi's lower arm – the right one, thankfully – and pulls. There's not enough force to haul Levi up with just that, he's a grown man, yet the impulse somehow gets his stiff muscles into motion again, he slowly climbs up on shaky legs until he reaches the top, then allows the hand to drag him onto the burst flooring to sit down.

Erwin watches him with his usual solemn expression; he doesn't feel for injuries, doesn't ask whether Levi needs help. Like he thinks that he'll simply be informed if Levi requires him to do anything.

That request doesn't come, so he turns away to unhook the strap of the rifle he's apparently picked up sometime during the battle from a metal stiffener – it has allowed him to lean over the ledge and reach out to Levi without losing his balance. After pointing that weapon at his head, but that's wasteland courtesy.

“We have to kill it,” Levi hears himself say. His voice is a hoarse whisper.

That gets Erwin's attention; and at least he still refrains from checking Levi's head for any suspicious bumps that might have caused this idea.

If the Deathclaw succumbs to its wounds, it will be a slow, agonizing death. If it doesn't, and that case is more likely, it will become a worse bane on this area than the Gunners. It's not acceptable. _Running_ is not acceptable. This is his fight, after all.

Erwin regards him with an unreadable expression; 'curiosity' maybe is the closest thing to it, mixed with something that Levi has learned to interpret as calculated grimness. Erwin uses it to mask what he thinks, especially when he doesn't agree.

“Most of the Gunners are dead.” It's either a fact or a convincing lie. “It's better to leave.”

Levi utters a rough snort and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Don't care. There's people down there.”

When Erwin doesn't immediately respond, Levi pushes himself up to stand; the wind tugs sharply at him, but it clears his head to feel the air bite at his eyes. He blinks to see that they have reached the highest usable floor, the rest is just rotting wood protruding into the sky. The cables are connected here, the car itself is swinging in the wind in front of the ruin. A few steel ropes have snapped already, it's no longer safe to use.

Erwin rises as well, his gaze follows Levi's without giving anything else away. “It's possible, then.”

Levi absolutely does not admit feeling a spark of relief at those familiar words: if Erwin deems something 'possible', he has at least a few ideas. Levi just nods, grimaces as he clears his throat and spits out; it's a reddish clump, an aftereffect of Psycho is bleeding gum – that's one of the reasons he normally doesn't use it, it's fucking disgusting. After he's cleaned his wounds, he needs to brush his teeth, thoroughly...

Erwin's hand on his shoulder comes so unexpected he nearly flinches – it's no comradely pat, it's an actual grip, firm and stern. One Levi can't simply shake off, and he gives an irritated hiss at the unwelcome touch: he's steady on his feet, what the fuck?!

For the split second he meets Erwin's eyes, there's concern, that clingy feeling that's as hard to shake off as that hand, and it startles Levi. The sight of a bleeding wound doesn't seem to affect Erwin while that petty bit of blood in his spit sets him on edge, it makes no damn sense.

“I need to be sure you can carry it out.”

There's no trace of concern in Erwin's voice, though. Not for himself, either, and it makes Levi glance at him. He sees no significant wounds, no signs of weakness, and he knows it must raise suspicion. Erwin is a tough combatant, he'll give him that, but he can't fight trained mercenaries on his own, no matter what he knows about strategies, no matter what else joins the party.

_Don't trust him. He's worthless. Kill him._

Ackerman would do that, wouldn't he?

Levi bluntly meets Erwin's eyes out of sheer defiance. “You're wasting time, get the fuck to work.”

He means those words, and yet he has temporarily forgotten the hand on his shoulder, the unwanted touch that leaves a warm spot and a brief memory of touches like that. Physical attraction dies hard, even when Levi can blame it on adrenaline and blood loss.

What's worse is that he _sees_ the tiny flicker in Erwin's eyes, the hint of glassiness that he has learned to read, and it tells him that the feeling is mutual. That the grip on his shoulder isn't as strong as before, although Erwin probably neither intends nor notices it. That's how he is, always considers himself to be perfectly in control.

Levi scowls and slaps the hand away, determined to stand his ground and listen to nothing, not the voice of irrationality and especially not to what he deems Ackerman's suggestions... Even when those may merely be oncoming madness.

“You find the power supply and overload the circuitry.” Erwin has regained his footing as well, and one of the few likable things about him is that he doesn't phrase with caution. If he makes a plan, he demands that people fulfill his expectation, simply because he has judged that they are able to do so.

In this case, though, Levi heavily doubts that ability – he knows shit about technology, hasn't his performance with the elevator already stated that?!

“I'll lure the Deathclaw to the cable car. When I give you a signal, fire the flare gun into it.”

It's certain that they don't have much time, especially when Levi doesn't know how long the civilians can hold out until someone loses their nerve and does something idiotic, but this is something he can't simply agree to.

“You're fucking slow and I'm shit at tech,” he spits. “You looking to get us killed?!”

Erwin's limp usually isn't a handicap, but if you run from a Deathclaw, 'not bad' isn't enough – Levi is a lot faster than him, and messing with electricity sounds like something you shouldn't do if you have no idea how to.

Erwin returns his glare with the stony concentration that says he has worked out his plans and backups in his mind already and someone talking to him is just background noise. It's pointless to argue then, albeit Levi refuses to give him that much trust and simply obey.

He has done it before.

“The wound on your arm is too deep to climb,” Erwin replies evenly, “and you only need to find a control panel and push every button. Most of the devices in the base are destroyed, so the generator will automatically channel too much power into the remaining ones. As long as you wait for my signal, this will work.”

It sounds too easy, and Levi refuses to believe that killing a Deathclaw can be that – unfortunately, he lacks a better idea, and Erwin might be right about his arm, which makes it difficult to challenge his plan. Details, as usual, have been left out.

Levi's mind is surprisingly blank as he shrugs, blocks out the pain and steels himself for what's about to come. Then he slips past Erwin without a second glance.

One thing hasn't changed: death is ever-present.

 

The short attack of vertigo has thankfully passed as Levi carefully climbs down the fire escape. The bleeding from the scratches on his back has stopped, but the cloth of his torn shirt now sticks to them, the movements break the scabs again. The blood loss is one thing, the potential trail another – the more dangerous for now. If the Deathclaw attacks him instead of going after Erwin, he has no suitable weapon.

The thought doesn't feel as provoking as before.

The people are still there, hiding among the remaining furniture and visibly tense: Levi can tell at first glance that they won't make it any longer. The stress of waiting in a hostile environment is enormous, too much for an average person.

So they don't need specific instructions.

“Once the riot starts, get lost. Over the river.” If there aren't any defensive fortifications from the Gunners, but it's still safer than staying on this side and risk running into remaining scum. Levi avoids looking at anyone in particular and doesn't wait for them to speak, he makes his way back to the elevator and tries to concentrate; his heart is drumming, it's probably the loss of blood that makes it work, what the fuck does he know about circuits and the like?

Has he been given the easier task to ensure he survives? No, they can't afford that. But it feels like it.

Fucking control panel.

The elevator is out of order, although it has power. The Gunners wouldn't be so careless to keep their captives somewhere close to something vital. The generator especially needs to be somewhere safe, likely underground, and the control panel shouldn't be too far, yet inside the ruin to stay as low-key as possible. Yes... That feels like it makes sense. Levi rubs the back of his hand over his forehead, brushes hair from his eyes without touching them with his bloody fingers.

Back to the ground level, then. Above him, the cable car creaks ominously from more than just wind, and Levi tenses.

He can't give fire support with this toy, but he can create a distraction. This is to say, if he has a clear field ahead, not if Erwin starts running the gauntlet without him. Impatient fucker can't already be getting ahead of himself... Levi presses his wounded arm to his side with his free hand to soften the impact as he hops down another level in a ruin that's so close to collapse, hisses quietly – despite giving into the fall by bending his knees slightly, the pain stings in his joints. He mustn't be loud, he can't attract attention-

Control panel. They all look the same, and he nearly curses audibly when he sees the shitty thing in a niche that used to have a door ahead. Levi approaches it, cautious of traps; there is a slip of paper underneath a rock, but the commands are encoded, and he has no time for that. Opening the lid of the iron-sheet-box, he scans the innards.

The damn shitcube has levers, not buttons. But if Erwin wants them flipped, he can have that.

His short rush has made Levi momentarily deaf to the sounds from the outside, something that usually does not happen to him; it'd be fatal. The chems seem to wear off, his senses are tiring from the drug-induced over-sensitivity. It makes the pain fade slightly, too, but he can't lose focus when they're that close.

His mind is trying to shut down nonetheless. Hell, he doesn't want to _sleep_...

Outside, he can hear the Deathclaw: furious, pained, murderous intent aimed at nothing and everything. It feels like that touches something within Levi, even when he's no longer sure if he's imagining it, creating something out of himself because deep inside, he doesn't trust anymore. Not even himself.

Metal screeches outside, like the attachment of the cable car is being put under pressure: Levi feels the tremble of the battered structure, the remaining supporting pillars moan, claws screech on crumbly stone. Being in here without seeing the threat itself is vexing; Levi hesitates for a moment, then decides if he comes down any more than this (in more ways than one), he'll fuck up. He reaches into the control panel and flips every switch, like Erwin said he should: the wires begin to crackle as the order is transferred and the generator somewhere beneath him strains to raise the power abruptly.

It will take some time, but so will getting back to the top of the ruin. Flare guns aren't designed to be fired at anything in particular, the flare will only fly in a curve if he shoots it from the ground. And if he's read Erwin right, a spark of ignition is what he's after. Yes... The cable car probably has makeshift-batteries on board, if you mess with those, the mixture of leaky cables, overload and explosive substance is vicious enough to turn that metal box into a deadly weapon. Charming idea.

If you get out of the way before it blows up.

This time, Levi runs straight for the fire escape as he dodges the rubble, the broken furniture and anything dead in his way. He spots the Deathclaw immediately from one of the windows: the massive head is raised, nostrils wide. Despite the dark blood covering the scales of its belly, it seems tireless, the tail whips back and forth.

Its sense of smell is returning. Shitty timing. For a split second, Levi feels the primal fear of any creature that knows it's weakened and bleeding, knows it can be tracked. When the Deathclaw lowers into a crouch to gather strength, he freezes. It's idiotic, he can't help it.

Then the Deathclaw leaps straight into the crumbling front and nearly out of his sight: the impact shakes the wobbly structure, stones and dust rain down as the beast climbs, frighteningly fast, up the building and towards its prey.

A shrill whistle resounds in Levi's temporarily paralyzed brain – for such a _man of virtue_ , Erwin sure has the brassy sound down to perfection. But Levi isn't where he needs to be, and sweat burns in the wounds on his back as he jumps through the nearest window, paying no mind to remains of glass as he rushes up the creaking fire escape. Sound is no longer important.

_Just come a little late. He's not worth it._

The thought is harder to hear over the jarring of the stairway and the rattling of steel ropes. Levi runs, the wind pulls at him with tiny hands and he refuses to look down as the top of the building comes closer. A steel rope tears with a series of bangs, his lungs begin to burn and his vision blurs; is that the sharp wind or the dizziness, he's not sure, how much more-

The moment Levi reaches the head of the fire escape, he fires the flare gun at one of the cable car's windows. He does it before taking in the situation: he might have hesitated otherwise, and now his eyes follow the sizzling flare and its tail of white smoke.

The Deathclaw has seized the cable car, its added weight makes the attachments groan and crunch ominously – the reptile would probably be more careful with something dangling so high above the ground if its sole focus wasn't on killing those who have caused pain, and it's close to success.

Erwin has barely climbed from the cabin's window and scrambled to the roof that's already creaking statically as the flare gun hisses, and the circuit will overload any second now.

When he throws himself from the wildly swinging cable car, it's not because he can aim his jump to safety, but because he will die surely if he doesn't leave the cabin at once.

The sudden crackling explosion nearly swipes Levi from the structure, it blinds his eyes and the crashes ring in his ears; the sickening stench of burnt horn and battery acid tickles his throat like wire. Still he stumbles, forces his eyes to stay open despite the watering and the aftervision on his retina. Covering his mouth with the sleeve of his good hand while firmly grasping the flare gun, he moves through the dust and fumes to where the attachments of the cable car have been ripped out from the foundation.

It's a smoking, crackling mess down there. And it's dead, that's everything that counts.

Almost everything. Erwin isn't here.

For a moment, Levi takes his observation in while his body screams at him from various directions. He doesn't look at the heap of smoldering junk, the unmoving reptile body, his heart slowly calms after the final blast of adrenaline and his breath is forced into control to avoid coughing.

Erwin isn't dead. He simply knows it.

As if to respond to his thoughts, he hears rubble scrunch in the level below him, followed by the snap of a safety catch. Then he realizes the corners of his mouth have curled a little, and it feels like treason.

 

The civilians are gone when Levi climbs back down the fire escape, eager to leave the ruin that is now closer than ever to collapse. It's a... strange relief to see that they ran, and the heaviness of it surprises Levi. It's not like he knew any of them, not like he came here intending to free them. And yet, when he has done so, it felt like his focus shifted, from wrestling with death to something that makes no sense to him.

It's confusing. Damn, he really needs a high after this.

Erwin waits for him in a somewhat safe distance from the office block, but close to the smoking pile and the carcass of the Deathclaw. He seems to have gotten away with scraped knees, though the way he holds a stiff posture suggests he's concealing pain from his fall – it seems minor since Levi senses some kind of grim gratification on him, like whatever has driven him to agree to this has been satisfied.

Creepy shit.

“Close call,” he grumbles. Fucking close.

In response, Erwin's bloodshot eyes crinkle a little around the corners as he hands Levi a Scorpio, a small gun he's obviously picked up somewhere here; the grip is a little bloody, and Levi wrinkles his nose at touching it.

“I knew you would make it,” Erwin replies soberly, as if it was merely a fact. Levi simply scoffs as he wipes the Scorpio on his sleeve; his coat is dirty as shit anyway.

His gaze travels to the Deathclaw. Its yellow eyes are still open, staring into nothing in the scorched face. It's the first time Levi has killed an animal out of something else than self-defense or food supply, but he feels no remorse – no satisfaction either, like he's done something he's needed to do.

He sure hopes he's only running a fever.

“Do you want a replacement for your dagger?”

Levi chooses not to wonder why Erwin knows he's lost his. Without taking his eyes off the cadaver, he nods: it's true that the claw of a Deathclaw makes a fine weapon, whether it's made into a knife, a gauntlet, a bayonet or anything else, yet it's the desire to have at least _something_ to gain from killing the beast that makes Levi agree without a second thought.

He lets Erwin kneel beside the carcass without comment; they need to get moving as soon as possible, and insisting he fulfills the gruesome task of cutting the claw off single-handed may settle his ego, but it will waste time and, in his case, blood.

“We need to cross the river and cover some distance before we can make a stop,” Erwin says, head bowed over the hand of the Deathclaw while he saws. “How fast can you move?”

Levi chooses to accept Erwin's estimation that the Gunners could react to the assault that soon – undoubtedly, there's some experience – and unscrews his canteen to drink the rest of water he's carrying while he thinks. The sky is mixed in gray and orange, nightfall will come quickly and fog is rising from the river itself.

He has to be as fast as he can, then. He'd love a better replacement for his shotgun than this plaything, but he'll find something else.

“I can run,” he says and shoves the canteen back into his belt. “Can you keep up, old man?”

Erwin snaps the claw off the joint with one last sickening crunch, careful not to touch the razor-sharp edge. It's slightly curved and as long as Levi's hand, yellowish horn with an almost malicious glint and smears of human blood as well as its own. Although the Deathclaw has climbed stone and iron with it, it's free of scratches. A valuable trophy.

Erwin stands up again, his hands are now dark with clotted blood and soot from the burnt scales. It's fairly certain he doesn't like to be reminded on his limp, especially not when it's paired with questioning his aptitude. But his face doesn't darken: his eyes are bright and somehow more at ease than he has been in days.

“Don't worry.”

His dismissive tone, too, speaks of a lighter mind. Levi tries not to dwell on it as he looks around for cloth he can scavenge to wrap the claw in for transport; if he shoves it into his belt, it will damage his already battered equipment or even cut him. “Whatever. Get your prize so we can get going.”

To his surprise, Erwin puts his army knife back into his pocket, ignoring the cadaver when there are other claws or what else you could convert into weapons or armor.

The eerie expression of sable glee, suppressed yet tangible somewhere, touches Erwin's face with a strange glow and makes a chill run down Levi's spine.

“This wasn't my prey,” the blond answers evenly.

Levi says no more.

 

Levi can spare no attention for the sunset over the Charles River or the bitter beauty of Cambridge's red brick ruins aflame in the fading light. He can only concentrate on moving quietly and watching his surroundings while the pain gnaws at his arm. He has learned to ignore pain as well as accept the warning signal, but he can't make the strain disappear along with it: contours start to blur at the corners of his vision, he needs more water and it gets colder as the sun sets, the temperature easily reaches into his tired muscles.

Erwin doesn't slow down until they reach the outskirts of town, and Levi doesn't ask him to – he places a certain trust in Erwin's experience with this situation, but he also refuses to show weakness. He presses his wounded arm to his side and clenches his jaws in stubborn silence.

At least they encounter nobody: the territory markings of the Gunners as well as their undoubted presence warns other scum off, and if the signs aren't enough, there's still the occasional rotting skull staked on a lamppost to clarify that this is by no means an empty threat.

When Erwin finally stops, Levi exhales quietly through his grit teeth. The twilight is more gray and blue now, he can make out the faded letters above the door of the bashed-up, formerly green store – a beauty salon. What the hell.

At this point, he doesn't even care anymore.

The door is blocked up, but Erwin lifts the bar with a thin piece of metal and lets them in. The reception is still occupied by a skeleton in a rose dress slumped over in a chair, plastic flowers from 200 years ago create a picture of irony in the thick dust. And everything is so... pink.

Again, Levi can't quite care. Nor does he notice much how Erwin takes his good arm to lead him to one of the three backgrounds, the one with the minimum of windows. If they board up the two here, they can make light with a relatively small risk.

No skeletons here, though Levi isn't sure he could have been persuaded to move them now if there had been some. Instead he sinks down on the examination table – it looks so medical that it must have been used for that purpose, if not outright for torture – and carefully peels his coat and shirt off. The scabs break open at that, and he can't help wincing at the sharp pinpricks.

Erwin pauses in his task to clamp the faded curtains around the window frames so they'll keep the light in. “You're making it worse. At least soak them in hot water-”

“Shove your know-it-all up your ass,” Levi hisses, at least his irritation distracts him from the pain and the trickling of blood down his back. “Isn't my first time.”

That's something Erwin can't disagree with at any rate, and thankfully, he doesn't try to.

Levi thinks he's resting a bit to prepare for the treatment, but he wouldn't swear he hasn't simply been staring into space, trying to stay awake and upright while Erwin secures the windows and rummages through the cupboards. When the latter quarries a Bunsen burner and a pair of tweezers that's so thin and pointy it can only have been used to cause a maximum of discomfort, he can't even be surprised.

Erwin leaves his findings aside to unscrew a plastic bottle of what seems to be rubbing alcohol – how far did people back then go for beauty?! – and sniffs it: going by the tiny cough, it seems to be quite the experience. The smell of something very flowery and very artificial hits Levi in the next second, and it's every bit as eye-watering as the stench of smoldering battery acid.

Then again, it needs to get the job done and clean his wounds. He'll find a way to cover the stink later.

Erwin tests the gas container, finds it filled to at least some extent and turns it up so the Bunsen burner emits a bright light and an almost snarling sound. It casts long shadows and twitching black lines on Erwin's face as he looks at Levi – who's aware that his state is being appraised, but he's too weary to snap at the other again, and it's even colder now that he's naked from the waist up.

“I need to rub the alcohol in to make sure it reaches the parts contaminated by the claws,” Erwin says, quiet, neutral. He's warning Levi of pain. Maybe he even feels the need to explain why he will cause him that pain.

Levi scoffs and looks away, seemingly more interested in the faded pictures of women in fancy costumes and hyperactive smiles on the walls. “I've used carbolic acid and other kinds of shit to clean my wounds before,” he growls. “Bit of flower booze won't hurt me.” Probably not a lot, anyway.

Erwin's brows arch a little, as if he's expected nothing else – if he's learned anything about Levi, he shouldn't have. He just removes his coat and willows up his sleeves to clean his hands with alcohol, then glances at the table Levi is sitting on.

“Lie down.”

There actually is a hole in the headrest, like you're meant to put your face there: Levi doesn't understands why anyone would do that (doesn't beauty revolve around your face in general, why do you dump it in the cushion?), but it makes sense to take that position when his back is treated. The crumbly fake leather creaks when he lies down on his stomach and turns his head so he can keep his distance from the filthy dust and still watch Erwin – he's tired, not careless.

The fluid in the bottle above him gurgles softly when it's poured, and the fraction of a second later, it unleashes liquid agony on him.

Levi clenches his jaws in time to avoid crying out, yet a muffled groan escapes him as the alcohol drills into every fiber of his wounded flesh. When Erwin's hands join to rub it into the deep scratches, Levi hears his teeth grind on each other: it's repeated on every cut the claws made, no time to catch his breath in between and he _doesn't want to ask._

Erwin is merciless, adding more alcohol if too much has dribbles from Levi's heaving sides and down his ribs, occasionally pressing down on the corners of the tears to increase the bleeding to rinse out dirt or merely to make Levi tremble with pain – there's nothing he puts beyond Erwin anymore, that shitty bastard-

The hands still, and Levi presses his sweaty forehead into the crumbly cushion to gasp for air; he's been holding his breath, only forcing a bit of air between grit teeth when it's absolutely necessary. His back is burning, even the rising of breath whips his rare flesh.

He'll live. At least the... dirt is out of the wounds, that's some consolation.

“Do you want a Stimpak?” Erwin asks him through the haze of pain; unapologetic, if a bit quieter than his usual tone.

Stimpak, as the name suggests, are regenerative stimulants packed into an automatic syringe, a form of medication that has saved countless lives since the War: potent, easy to use and reasonably priced, it will speed up Levi's considerable ability of self-healing as well as ease the pain with the bit of local anesthetics it contains.

He'll want one later, when the side-effects don't matter. A Stimpak logically draws energy from the body to speed the regeneration up, thus makes you sleepy if you're low on nutrition and rest. Levi bares his teeth at Erwin and flexes the muscles of his left arm, painful as it might be. The ire of his own body even feels somewhat calming.

“So you can sew more shit into my body?” He exhales through his teeth again. “Fuck you.”

Erwin's eyes snap up from the Bunsen burner he's currently using to sterilize the tweezers – first in confusion, then the blue of his eyes clouds with annoyance. “Why would I?”

That question alone makes Levi's temper flare, and he jerks up despite the tearing pain in his back. “Are you...”, he has to take a breath to fight the short dizziness, fixes Erwin with a searing stare and sorely misses his dagger, “... fucking serious, you son of a rat?!”

He hasn't forgotten the tracking device Erwin has hidden in his equipment somewhere along the way; he has made use of it to find Levi, and if he happens to put one under his skin, preferably into his back, which place could be more perfect to keep the _synth_ on a short leash?

“If you need to know,” Erwin replies, a tense note somewhere in his voice as he returns Levi's enraged glare, “I removed the device before you woke up in the bunker. Any kind of signal could be tracked by someone else.”

Again, it's not an apology, just a reason why Erwin would refrain from putting another tracking device on him – though Levi wouldn't have believed any kind of emotional assertion anyway. Which Erwin won't give, not because he knows it's useless, but because to him, the end justifies the means.

Any means necessary.

The thought tastes bitter in his dry mouth. Levi still wants to hit that loathsome face, yet he hates the underlying powerlessness that action would bring.

Erwin holds his gaze a moment longer, then he sinks down on the small roller stool that may have been occupied by the workers here for a parody of what they're doing now. They are nearly at eye-level, Levi for once a bit higher. If he jerks up his knee, he can kick Erwin right in the face.

“Let me treat your wounds,” the blond finally says, his face with the short beard and the thick brows is hard and dark, but his voice is softer. Weary, like this conversation exhausts him. “I understand you don't trust me,” at that point Levi bites his tongue, because he fucking _does_ trust him in some way and has to remind himself not to, because it's the pain that makes him testy and vicious and he might be tempted to let Erwin off the hook otherwise – pitting Gunners against a Deathclaw and survive the whole day, how many people can pull that off together?

However, he would have to remember what Erwin sees in him. Whose voice he hears whenever Levi opens his mouth.

“... and we will reach our destination tomorrow, but you need to heal.”

Erwin doesn't say 'please', maybe that would add the last bit of absurdity to the situation. Levi feels the strain of sitting up while the bleeding of his wounds has temporarily increased with washing them out, and Erwin's words do make sense, he's weakening himself. And there is no alternative, nobody else around, and Levi obviously can't stitch his own back.

“The destination I don't know because it wasn't _safe_ to talk?” he bites instead of giving in. His saliva feels gluey and disgusting, clear signs he needs more water and sleep, and the sooner he gets patched up, the better.

But because Erwin thinks the same, he will draw it out. Ackerman is just so fucking precious, that's a good position to negotiate, isn't it?

“You didn't ask,” Erwin has the absolute nerve to reply. “We're headed for a place to replenish supplies and weapons; someone there can convert the claw into a dagger, for instance. The Junktown.”

Levi knows the term from small, informal settlements founded apart from ruins, though they are mostly located on the West Coast, so he has never been there. And it sounds like Erwin is speaking of a specific junktown, not traveling all across the country 'by tomorrow'.

“Never heard of it.”

Despite the situation, there is a spark of dry amusement flitting under Erwin's tone. “Because you don't set a high value on finding out about those places.”

That... can't be denied, when all he used to want was freedom. By now, it seems to have slipped out of his grasp.

“And if we're still being tailed?” Levi asks while carefully tugging the leather strap around his left arm loose. The material has pressed into his skin, his flesh feels hot and numb around it – the pain is bearable, which is probably not a good sign.

“That risk is inevitable.” Erwin drenches an ancient fluffy towel in flowery alcohol, then rubs his hands moderately clean; Levi has known doctors who aren't as diligent with hygiene and disinfection as he is. “And the people I work with have agreed to it.”

He looks at Levi, apparently waits for an expression of consent – which isn't spoken, but eventually Levi stretches out on his stomach again and lets his arm hang over the edge. Erwin takes his hand and clamps it under his armpit to fixate it, the grip of his left hand around Levi's elbow shows he expects him to struggle. For a hazy moment, Levi is distracted by the way Erwin's callous fingers nearly reach around his joint, then huffs snidely.

“'m not a pansy.”

Erwin's left hand moves up to stretch the wound and locate the bullet, his lower jaw underneath the thick stubble tenses. “You're trying hard to prove it, yes.” It almost sounds like he mumbles something under his breath in another language, but Levi is too preoccupied with the sharp pain as the cosmetic tweezers try to get a hold on the slick bullet – he presses his forehead against the headrest and screws his eyes shut, forces himself to breathe in puffs. The sight of something poking around in his flesh makes him unexpectedly sick, and throwing up will do him no good and only cost him more fluid.

“I need you to relax your arm, the muscles will clutch the foreign material otherwise,” Erwin says calmly, Levi is absurdly thankful for a moment that he calls it 'foreign material' and not 'bullet'. “If you want an injection, it will only take a moment.”

Levi mutely shakes his head, or rather rolls it on the cushion – a 'moment' is time when Erwin will dig around in his backpack, then clean his hands and heat up the tweezers again, and he wants that thing out, now. His arm in the other's grasp is trembling, his fingers dig into the armored fiber of the shirt covering Erwin's side, then press themselves flat: there is his own thundering heartbeat and under his palm Erwin's... surprisingly heavy thumping, even when his hands don't shake and his voice is even. And yet this bothers him, does it hurt him to cause pain to something created out of cells from the _great Ackerman-_

A metallic click as Erwin drops the bullet onto the counter next to the Bunsen burner, Levi feels the turn of his torso under his hand, then the grip strengthens again as this wound, too, is cleaned with alcohol.

“If possible, Hanji should check your arm in case the bullet has grazed the bone,” the voice above Levi says soberly, only that he can feel the slow, deep exhale of relief where Erwin has clamped his wrist. “I'll stitch this despite the bleeding now. The shot narrowly missed your artery.”

The thought that it could have been worse is generally one Levi doesn't entertain, so he's irritated that Erwin even mentions it – then the pain sets in again as the wound is cleaned thoroughly, and a bit of distraction begins to sound damn good. Levi breathes harshly against the fake leather, his sweat dampens the soft surface.

“Fuck... Didn't you... get some?” he forces out between his breaths. In his periphery, Erwin stanches the arm with the leather strap again, then holds one of his sewing needles over the hissing flame. The heat must immediately conduct through the metal and burn his fingers, but he doesn't flinch.

“Not much.” He threads the needle, and Levi squeezes his eyes shut as strong fingers press the seams of the wound together. “I had the easier job, messing with machines and sabotaging strategies I knew.” He wipes the wound with the towel one last time, then sets to work.

Sounds like he really used to be a Gunner, then, though Levi still isn't convinced. Erwin talks of strategies like they're something everyone could manipulate with the specific knowledge – as if it's the code for a battle robot that you can use once you managed to activate it. But that's not it, not even close.

Besides, the Gunners possess a great deal of information they pass on, yet that knowledge is almost exclusively centered on the art of battle, and Erwin has a more profound background, and he can show his face in settlements like Goodneighbor that are full of bounty hunters.

“I... don't know whether I would have done what you did.”

The pause is tiny, Levi isn't sure he's quite heard it. However, abrupt changes of topic usually mean Erwin has been going over something for a while by himself, and if he hasn't been able to push it off his mind in a situation like this, it's not normal. This sounds interpersonal, and that's something Levi no longer wants with this man, but... circumstances are special.

“What.” A questioning intonation is hard to pull off through grit teeth, and his stomach twists at the feeling of the thread in his flesh. Only Erwin's quick heartbeat tells him he's not simply moving through a routine.

“You changed your priorities for these people.”

'These people' being hostages held for ransom, yes. Levi has been trying not to think of it, just like he hasn't analyzed his sudden desire for mortal danger either.

“Didn't know...” He inhales deeply and glances at his arm: Erwin is as nimble with mending flesh as with cloth, the wound already looks a lot less gruesome and more like something Levi is confident will heal well. It's still burning like Erwin shoved a piece of hot iron under his skin, but seeing him pull out a bandage is already a relief. “... they'd be there,” he finishes with a dry throat and swallows with difficulty.

Erwin briefly looks up, tugs at the needle he's holding with the tweezers so it doesn't slip out of his blood-slick fingers.

Ah, yes. If he knows Gunner-strategies so well he can override them, he must have at least suspected they had hostages: that side of the river has been bombed so thoroughly nobody lives there, and supplies have to be obtained somehow.

Levi processes this as Erwin sutures the wound and wipes away the remaining blood – useless, but the gesture is appreciated – then begins to bandage the arm.

“Aren't you doing this for the people, or was that just your shitty talk?”

It's starting to feel to exhausting to sound angry, and Levi doesn't protest when Erwin pulls out a Stimpak to inject the fluid into the vein of his lower arm. This requires him to let go of Levi's hand, and his traitorous heartbeat is lost. Levi balls his fist to erase the feeling of vivid thumping and warm cloth – it doesn't work.

“I wonder.” The short twitch around the corners of Erwin's mouth doesn't hold any amusement. “Reconstruction isn't my strong point.”

Neither is it Levi's. To be honest, it simply felt wrong to leave those people there or let them run into their certain end, and he doesn't comprehend what has driven him to change his course of action so drastically. It has heightened the risk back there to near-suicidal, and he doesn't know how well he would have fared without Erwin knowing what to do. Sure, they were filthy lucky, but at least that made it fun.

“You helped,” he admits gruffly as Erwin threads the needle again and moves to wipe excess alcohol from his back, now that it has had time to soak in and hopefully kill most of the contamination. The anesthetic slowly works, not really numbing the pain yet taking the edge off it.

“I suppose so.”

It's impossible to tell what Erwin thinks, and he has moved out of Levi's line of vision to do the stitches on his back. Eventually, Levi lets him be and deal with his conscience (or lack thereof) on his own.

He's tired. He can't... be afraid to sleep, even chems can't substitute real rest, and he wants to stop thinking. He's not himself anymore, and frankly, it pisses him off to feel that way.

The needle mends his flesh with swift stitches, thankfully without sound. Levi's head feels hot and heavy, a side-effect of the stimulants that boost his healing: his body reacts with faster metabolism and stress symptoms. The bright flame of the Bunsen burner blurs before his eyes, and he blinks hastily against it, yet the smudges reappear. “You done sometime soon?” he growls, at least his own voice, croaky as it may be, wakes him up a little.

“I am.” It's become hard to distinguish between the pricks of the needle and the ever-present burn of pain, though Levi still curses that he hasn't noticed. Erwin doesn't comment on it. “I'd like to leave the stitches unbandaged until tomorrow to see if there's an infection spreading.”

Levi scoffs through the thick saliva in his mouth. The sun has only set a while ago, so staying here until morning means more than the few hours they have rested to far; if they're close to the Junktown, it's a waste of time, they could possibly make it by daybreak out of Cambridge.

“Fuck that, 'm not sick.” His voice slurs a little, he has to remember that he still needs to drink before sleeping.

Erwin reappears to sit on the stool again, he wipes his hands with the bloodied towel and sets to clean his instruments. The glance he shoots Levi is piercing as always, though he does hand him his canteen with the last of purified water they have.

If only it didn't feel like he's protecting an investment.

“But we're staying,” he says with finality and willows his sleeves back down. Levi glares at him over the canteen – which he does take, he's not dying to feel shitty. “I don't-”

“Then consider me tired.”

It's the first time Erwin does admits something like weakness, and Levi isn't entirely sure he's serious: albeit the defiant note suggests he is, and now that they're short of one traveling companion, the duty of keeping watch is divided between the two of them.

If he's just offering a loophole for Levi, at least it's convincing enough.

Levi finishes the water and forces a few bites of ration bar down his throat; he's not hungry and the stress makes his stomach churn, but he hasn't eaten all day, and the Stimpak needs nutrition to work with. He... may have pushed a little hard in the past days.

Erwin has deposited the small pile of dirty towels on the counter and turns the Bunsen burner down so the gas will hold a while longer. Granted, it doesn't give off a lot of warmth, but it's a start. Though when Erwin picks up Levi's bloodied coat to inspect the fabric, he does stare at him with raised eyebrows.

“Seriously?”

Not that Levi is in any condition to take the first watch, but this is what Erwin plans to do in the meantime?

“Keeps me busy,” Erwin replies simply, and once again, it's difficult to tell what he's thinking. And Levi is too tired to try. “You can borrow my coat for now.”

Levi is quite sure he has suppressed any physical sign of being cold, yet it doesn't take a brilliant mind to deduce that half naked and in a weakened state, you're prone to feel the chill.

His own stuff is bloodied and torn, not much comfort. Erwin's is probably little better, reeking of smoke and the inevitable smell of sweat and grime after days of not being able to wash properly.

The beauty salon likely has loads of thin, moderately clean cloth he can use as a blanket. Yet the thought of sleeping under something that irrationally seems like a burial shroud disgusts Levi on a deeper level. Profane human smells are more familiar than this flowery stuff that has been lying here for so many years, waiting patiently for people long dead.

He hates the cities.

“Please yourself, sick shit.”

Slowly, careful not to stretch the fresh stitches, Levi rolls onto his side – he absolutely can't sleep on his stomach, it's a position he can't immediately jump up from – and pulls his left arm against his chest. If he doesn't want to lay on it, he has so face Erwin; it's starting to lose importance as his body begins to shut down, he doesn't care for the smudges of blood on the cushion either.

Erwin gives him the shadow of that strange smile, the one he always forgets Levi can see because his eyes don't need as much light. It seems almost fond.

This has been a mistake.

If he hasn't already seized that, the realization strikes as Erwin drapes his coat over him and the heavy fiber covers Levi. Despite having been taken off a while ago, there are still traces of warmth, signs of good isolation and professional workmanship. The lining is surprisingly smooth, the filled pockets add weight and sink easily around him.

It wakes memories Levi doesn't want to stir. But his body has no patience with his mind, shutting down before he has squashed it, the smell, the warmth, the arm over his side, the soft breathing into his hair.

He misses the man he's left behind there.

 

Erwin doesn't wake him that night, and Levi doesn't comment on it when he stirs and sees the light filtering through the curtains.

If that man insists on being unreasonable, that's fine.

Levi hands him his coat without another word, he notices the way Erwin watches him move – questioning, trying to guess the state of his regeneration. Since he doesn't ask, Levi says nothing either, just slides from the examination table to search his pack for his toothbrush; he didn't get around to brushing his teeth yesterday, but that's the absolute maximum he can allow that basic hygiene to be delayed.

He hears Erwin quietly exhale as he bends over his stuff and the claw scratches come into view.

Levi knows what they look like, even without the use of a mirror. He doesn't feel the heat of infection or the swelling of allergic reaction, so the cuts must have closed enough to seal the barrier of his skin again. He never used to wonder about his regeneration – after all, his body's had plenty of practice with healing, why wouldn't it be fast?

The irony.

His clothes actually have been mended, the pile of dirty towels is gone; burnt, probably. And despite not sleeping for another long period, Erwin seems strangely energetic, moving with more purpose now. His blue eyes are bright as if feverish, and if Levi hadn't known Erwin doesn't take chems, he would have thought he's high. Perhaps he's been picking up bad habits after all.

But he's supposedly been thinking all night. When it comes to this madman, that's potentially more dangerous than any kind of drug.

Levi barely notices how the blood is gone from the cushion of the table when he returns from his brief morning routine – he absolutely demands that the Junktown has hot water and soap, or he won't stay a fucking second there – and puts his clothes back on.

Erwin's eyes have sunken deeper, but they are fervent as he adjusts the strap of his rifle and closes his coat. He doesn't talk, as if his thoughts are entirely focused on something else, then suddenly his sight seems to snap back into the present as he looks at Levi, who carefully pulls his coat sleeve over the bandage on his left arm; this one is too deep to close overnight, and it hurts more, too. He may even let the insane doctor check it.

“We should talk later.”

It's not like Erwin to make such vague statements at all. If he's been up all night, one would think even someone with less eloquence would come up with something better.

It makes Levi wary. He only shrugs, not wanting to show interest when the last night has already pestered him with memories and questions he's logically rejected already.

Then they leave.

The pace is brisk, which suits Levi; he doesn't want to think anymore, and he's eager to be finally alone – it hasn't seemed like it back then, but he has been in the company of someone for nearly two months now, and that closeness will end in mere hours. Levi doesn't want anyone else around either, not until he chooses their presence to get his answers, and it feels like people are so loud he can't hear his own thoughts.

The landscape beyond the ruins of Cambridge is hilly, the yellow grass high and mutated fern sprouts between the skeletons of trees and large pylons. Levi divides his attention between not tripping over roots or rocks and watching his surroundings: hideouts everywhere, yet he doesn't see tracks of animals.

Then, over the twentieth-or-something hill comb, he sees the trails of smoke in the blue sky.

Erwin is moving towards the dark spot in the landscape, rusted signs occasionally point towards a junkyard and a trailer park – the first seems to be what they're after, and Levi allows himself to relax a little. Optical range means safety, at least a little, and he can make out flying, round objects above the settlement, so the technical standard seems to be high.

He's not even surprised. If they have power armor, why not any other kind of frippery.

“About damn time,” he grumbles, more to himself than to Erwin. “Fucking dark already.” Despite the clear sky, the light is fading by now, maybe exhaust fumes from the Junktown cloud the sun...

Erwin glances at him, brows slightly drawn upwards. He hesitates for a second or so before replying in his usual unhurried tone: “It's broad daylight.”

Oh.

Then why is it so damn-

Levi means to lift his head up to look at the sun, but the sky turns towards him instead – stunningly blue and so, so empty – as his consciousness fades and the tremors begin.

 


	2. Part Two

_It's quiet and warm, the blanket smells of clean smoke from burning wood and antiseptic. It's a little itchy where the cloth touches the side of his neck, but he mustn't move – he pretends to sleep, and he isn't far from it, either. It's comfortable and safe, he hears a low humming that calms him, makes him feel... secure._

_He's perfectly still as steps slowly move closer to him, a hand touches his hair, lightly so as not to stir him. It's gentle and unobtrusive, an affectionate act that he's already too old for yet since he feigns sleep, he can enjoy it. He wouldn't admit that he does, of course, that the fingers combing strands of hair from his ear are... pleasant._

“ _Little moon,” the voice murmurs, not clearly attributable to a man or a woman, to a certain age or a species. But it's fond, trusted._

“ _They won't find you,” the voice continues and strokes his cheek, a touch so tender he barely feels it. He can't suppress a tiny shiver, and another hand pulls his blanket up a little, interpreting it as a sign of chill rather than waking up._

“ _And if they do,” it continues, softly,” don't be scared. I will kill you before they get you.”_

 

“-wasn't meaning to say the shape is lacking. If you don't mind me saying so, his physique, such a balance of bone density and flexibility, his technical perfection is rather... marvelous.”

“I don't mind it. But he does, actually.”

“Well, yes, that... that figures. A pity.” A hissing sigh. “A true pity. The good it could do...”

The air is cool and smells antiseptic, like his dream. Maybe the smell has seeped into his dream firsthand. The voices become a low drone again, luring him with the feeling of familiarity into a dozing state. Levi wants to open his eyes, but his ever-obedient body fails him: his limbs are heavy, his muscles ache – every fucking fiber does.

“Was that much necessary?” Disapproving, if only a little.

“Don't tell me how to do my job, and I won't tell you about yours. Though I have a thing or two to say about that.” A few moments of silence that mutely crackle with tension. “Go to sleep. Nothing's gonna happen now, he's fine. If the seizures start again...”

Then what? Levi wants to listen on, but the words blur before he can grasp them. He drifts back into sleep, for a moment he thinks he can feel those fingers – or different ones? – in his hair again, the humming of motors and the sound of a radio accompany him, then grow fainter as a door is shut. Dream and reality blend into each other, and he thinks about rolling over to curl up under the blanket and sleep for a while.

Only that he can't move, not because his body is heavy, but because his wrists and ankles are bound in a specific position – and with that, Levi violently jerks awake.

Leather cuffs hold his limbs in place: he can lift his rump and head from the smooth cushion, and that's the unfortunate limit of his mobility. As he instinctively tries to yank his good hand out of the cuff – where has his dagger gone, why can't he reach it, _shit_ , it's broken – one of the machines utters an annoying chirping sound and is turned off with a plastic click.

“Please don't struggle, they're for safety! Your safety, that is, can you wait until I've called the-... Dear me, Mr. Ackerman, would you _listen_?”

Levi precisely does not do that, as the cuff is just loose enough to pull his hand through if he endures the tearing in his thumb for a short while; it's when he hears that name, that blasted name, that he freezes.

Nobody has ever called him Ackerman, not even Erwin. It has been clear to everyone that Levi is not, and can't be, the same person as the one he's shaped after. And being called that is like an insult thrown in his face, one he hasn't even expected.

The growl from his dry throat scrapes his vocal chords. With a final jerk, Levi's right hand comes free to blindly grab the person standing somewhere close to the headrest – he can judge the position fairly well in the quiet room, now that the bastard has spoken and his eardrums have recovered. His fingers wrap around a lower arm and squeeze with brutal force, intend to break bone. He has done that before.

Except that there is no bone. What Levi feels beneath his fingers is... steel. With wires tangled around it and rubber covering the arm where his nails should dig into skin.

Levi gives the arm a ruthless tug, and the owner stumbles into his line of vision, a small sound of surprise follows the force of the pull – that, and a slightly sheepish smile. “You are... remarkably strong.”

It's a synth. A goddamned _real_ synth, or what Levi has always considered one.

Though dressed in a patched three-piece-suit (and down to vest and willowed sleeves right now) and quite clean, it's a battered exemplar. The thick rubber representing the skin has taken a grayish tint with age and is torn in places, especially the left arm has parts of elbow and lower arm where the naked steel is visible. The smile, too, reveals damage, the left side of the face moves with delay, the motions aren't smooth and something like artificial scars hold patches of skin over the skull together. The rest is covered by dark-blond hair, and the mechanical eyes, once probably the same glaring yellow as other synths', have dulled to a color of speckled light-brown.

For a moment, it catches Levi off guard. Then he immediately recognizes the signs of insecurity, nervousness, even apprehension in the posture, realizes he's not in a very inferior position despite being tied down. He tightens his grip again and notices how the synth's fingers twitch; a sense of pain might be implemented, along with the humanoid appearance.

“'m... not... Ackerman.”

The exertion has sapped more of Levi's strength than he's thought, apparently he's still healing. But if anything, the breaks in his speech make every word menacing.

The synth, male by built and voice, nods. His eyes are still wide, however he seems to compose himself quickly. “No, you are not. My mistake. Erwin told me you'd hate that, but my concept... I'm sorry.”

If Erwin has spoken to him, they're at least where they are meant to be: the Junktown.

Levi's not so sure he really wants to be here, though. Not when he wakes up tied to a, what, examination couch? _Again_.

The synth glances down at Levi's hand on his arm, then back to him. The asynchronism of his face as he speaks is... strange to look at, particularly because his pronunciation is pin sharp.

“Do you mind if I call the doctor? And... we secured you because of the seizures, you could have done yourself harm otherwise.” He carefully clears his throat, something he probably doesn't need but has picked up as a 'human' habit. If it isn't already implemented. “And please let go of me, Mr... Levi.”

He pronounces it 'Lee-wy', it's likely not even intended mockery considering the rest of his polite tone, just annoying. Levi glowers, then lets him go – not because he's so convinced the cuffs really are for his safety, but because he needs his hand to undo the rest of them.

Set him up with a synth to watch him, what a fucking shit idea. Erwin's, he'll bet, introduce him to one of his own kind-

Levi grits his teeth as he frees himself by pulling the buckles of worn leather open, sitting up to reach his feet. No... This is not him. He doesn't mind synths, enough people shit themselves over those, and this one can't even pass for a human unless it's really dark. They're machines, not necessarily monsters. Just... He's fucking testy about everything concerning synths right now, and there's nothing to calm him.

The synth cautiously withdraws to a door consisting of a metal frame stringed with netting wire, apparently both to give Levi more space and see where the doctor is held up. Levi hears him call quietly to one of the rooms as he swings his feet over the edge of the couch, eyes his dirty boots and hands with disgust. Someone has removed his coat and cut his sleeve to tend to his wound, now orange with iodine tincture under the otherwise clean bandage: when he does a quick check of his body he finds it unacceptably filthy, yet mostly alright. No remaining heat from a low fever, no fatigue from the Stimpak, only quite sore muscles and general weariness. So far, so good.

Looking around, Levi finds himself in what seems like a half-buried cube made from thick tin sheets welded together: daylight filters through the high, narrow windows and sounds carry in from the outside, but the echo is somehow off, as if the earth swallows it. A ceiling fan turns lazily above his head, the walls are lined with bulky machines that all seem to be active and at the same time do absolutely nothing (aside from pesky little blips and pointless numbers on flickering screens) and a large workbench. Levi spots his coat there, as if someone has inspected it – he should have known that people hanging around Erwin don't care for privacy – and a sheet of paper is tugged underneath it. With the synth's attention currently distracted, Levi carefully slips from the couch to stand and walk a few steps. Works fine. Leaning over the workbench, he glances at the paper to inspect the notes.

_Energy resistance below 5. Wear of leather above tolerable. Radiation protection completely ineffective. Cotton fiber. Rusted parts among generally non-appropriate weapons. No headgear found. No aluminum against chemical projectiles. Lead corrosion. - I have refrained from burning this, but barely._

Levi has the strong suspicion that this describes the condition of his equipment. None too kindly, as well.

The synth behind him clears his throat again, and when Levi turns his head, he's standing there with his hands clasped behind his back and his mechanical eyes roving over Levi. It's impossible to tell whether he does it to compensate for the damage his organs – or devices – of perception have sustained or because he's curious to watch. Levi thinks he remembers the voice from before, that tone that is not quite tinny yet stands out with an unusual kind of stiff melody.

“I hope you are not offended by my lapse.” One of the eyes zooms out, the pupil grows smaller as the synth cocks his head. “My name is Moblit Berner, I run the Junktown. You're welcome here.” Again a hint of that sheepish expression as he adds: “And may I say that your stereopsis is outstanding?”

Yes, that has to be the voice that has complimented his bone density and other shit before. If it's even a compliment – Levi hasn't grown his bones intentionally, and he has no vague idea what 'stereopsis' even is. More of those fancy terms he's obviously not supposed to understand, that's charming.

“Why did you tie me up,” he growls, ignoring the apology or the introduction. Apparently, everyone knows who he is anyway.

'Mr. Ackerman', fuck him.

“The medical detail is Doctor Zoe's subject,” Moblit replies carefully as he moves to the workbench, casually swiping the paper from beneath Levi's coat with a speed that belies his awkward introduction and the appearance of someone soft. “I can't explain satisfactory, my expertise is the mechanical part.” His pale lips twitch. “As you can imagine.”

Levi notes that if it hasn't outright been Moblit who wrote those unflattering lines about his equipment, he at least wants to cover up for them; he lets him get away with it with a snort. “Because you're a synth?”

Synths only have what the Institute puts into them, so they aren't automatically created with technical knowledge. And this one is obviously rogue, so his memory must be wiped. Few synths exist apart from their masters, but if they do, they don't recall anything about their previous 'occupation'.

Moblit nods as if Levi has made a correct assumption, so it's confusing when he answers: “I'm actually not... a synth in the first instance. I'm a robot. Doctor Zoe transferred my – if you will call it such – consciousness into this body that the Institute had no need for, making it a lot easier to operate.”

Levi has never heard of that being possible; some synths end up in a catatonic state when they're thrown into the trash, and that's the end of it, they're impossible to reactivate. And robots, built for household or military tasks, don't change their shell.

But if he's thought about asking for explanations (and he isn't quite awake enough for that), Hanji enters through the steel door and lets it fall shut with a bang before that chance even comes.

The doctor doesn't look as scruffy as when they parted, a lot cleaner (Levi envies them) and more rested, although the shadows beneath their eyes remain. They now wear a pair of normal glasses, the bruises from the goggles are still red on their skin and their hair is messy, like they've dragged their fingers through it again and again.

“Up already. Your vigor can be flat out disgusting.” But Hanji smiles – a crabby expression nonetheless, which is reassuring. It would have made Levi wary if they had somehow gotten all cuddly and sweet.

Hanji eyes him while rubbing the back of their neck thoughtfully. The jumpsuit has been replaced with a lab coat again, carelessly pulled over more comfortable clothes they seem to have slept in. “How're you feeling?”

“Filthy.” And generally still messed up, but he can't recover like this, not when he knows he can change this status first. First things first, though. “Why the fuck did you tie me up?”

Hanji raises their eyebrows at Levi's tone, and Moblit shoots them a glance. “Because you weren't safe to handle. Do you remember that you had a circulatory collapse?”

As a fact, he does not. The last bit Levi remembers is catching sight of the Junktown in the distance and setting his sole focus on that; maybe he has blended out the last of the way, though he'd definitely remember meeting Moblit or getting his arm treated.

He throws a warning scowl in Hanji's direction when they step closer to inspect his pupils and slaps away a hand that reaches for his chin.

It's answer enough. Hanji wisely refrains from commenting on that, especially on the point that he must have been carried the last part of the way. “Erwin said it started with shivers when you fell unconscious, then the tremors got worse. Epilepsy can happen under influence of fatigue and blood loss, and your peri-... the skin of your bone is irritated where the bullet grazed it.” Unperturbed, Hanji extends their hand to paw around his mouth, and Levi slaps it away with more force this time.

“Of course, that is the medical side of it. There might be other reasons for the seizure...” Hanji steps closer since Levi refuses palpation, and he considers punching them. “... I assume you've never suffered from this despite your _stressful_ lifestyle?”

And how would he know? He doesn't remember anything like this, but he can't swear it never happened. And above all else, he doesn't like the look in Hanji's eyes, the implications that can be interpreted into it.

And like hell is he going to answer and invite more speculation.

“Doctor.” Moblit's voice is low, careful on a different level than before. Hanji is not as likely to attack anyone as Levi doubtlessly is, so he probably strikes that tone out of respect – if he has really acquired a nearly human body through them, it makes sense.

“There should be enough time to deal with that later, after the recovery has made better progress.”

Hanji waves his remark aside, yet the terse set of their mouth eases a little as they grumble: “Sleep is overrated. Especially by those who don't need it.” They raise their eyebrows at Levi at that. “Did you already get to that part of the introduction?”

Levi crosses his arms, once again noting how sore his muscles are; but he's _not_ sitting down. If they have fancy machines here, they have to have a bathing place, too, one with hot, decocted water. And he can hear sounds of everyday life from outside: someone hammering on metal, chopping wood, voices of humans and cattle, so since this room isn't isolated, there's no need to stay here.

“Yeah.” Though he's not sure why Moblit thought it important to tell him that he's even closer to metal than he looks. “And I'm sure my stereoptic is exciting as fuck-”

Moblit automatically corrects with “stereopsis”, Hanji narrows their eyes with a hiss of “As a Deathclaw?”. Levi ignores both.

“-but I don't care. You tie me up again for whatever purpose, I'll break your arms.” That's mostly directed at Hanji, and Levi briefly notices Moblit's right eye zoom in as if to watch for any signs of an oncoming attack. He'll remember that, to be sure. “And I'm not doing shit before I haven't had a bath.”

“You're still healing.” It sounds like Hanji physically swallows any other words that might stretch to other topics, particularly to the way Levi has earned these wounds.

Why do they all think he's asking for permission? Levi snatches his coat from the workbench and spots his backpack sitting on a round canister close to it – the weight is mostly what he's used to, so maybe there's nothing major missing. The door Hanji used probably doesn't lead outside, but the wall with the windows has one, too, that's more likely-

Levi reaches for the handle and pushes. The door doesn't budge.

Now they _fucking locked him in_.

Hanji returns his glare with defiance as he whirls around while Moblit raises his hands in a pacifying gesture; the fingers on the damaged side twitch slightly, perhaps a sign of nervousness. “I didn't give you the full introduction because the circumstances of your arrival... No matter. However, the Junktown operates under firm rules, and I need you to hear them first. This procedure is fixed for everyone who comes here.” His voice grows calmer and gains intonation as he seems to find back into his role. “Whether you agree to them or reject them, you can leave afterwards.”

The same rules for everyone... Sounds fair, Levi would like to believe that. He just doubts it's that simple. Though for now, he _is_ locked up, whatever the spacy hybrid says, and he needs to conserve his strength. If that crazy doctor guesses how weak his knees feel by now, he has a feeling he won't get them off his back that soon.

“Fine.”

Moblit smiles at him – more than a little relieved, it seems. “Good. It's quite simple. Rather than an actual settlement, the Junktown is a trading place that mostly functions with exchange of all kinds of goods. No living creatures, everything else is allowed. The terms of every bargain are individual and have to be agreed on by both parties.” His lips quirk, albeit it's hard to tell whether it's a mechanical malfunction or a facial expression. “You can imagine that this only works with an instance of enforcement. That's why everyone on the compound, trader or not, wears one of these.”

He pulls something silvery from his breast pocket: it's a chain with something dangling from it that awfully looks like a subway token.

“This serves as an identification tag.”

Levi makes no move to take it, sensing nothing good as he prompts: “For what?”

Moblit's smile could have seemed innocent if his face wasn't so damaged and you didn't listen well. “Laser turrets, mostly. Protectrons. Some eyebots. The majority of it is used against raiders and such, intruders from outside, but just having all that does help to keep visitors in line.”

Levi stares at the synth, unable to tell if he's lying or at least bluffing about the assortment of defensive fortifications he's set up here, what the _hell_ does that even mean, the turrets are aimed at everyone all the time?!

Hanji pulls a token out of their collar by its chain and drops it to lie against their chest. “It's not like you'll get riddled with bullets once you punch someone,” they clarify, “there are more control instances, actually. But you know how it goes around here, no respect if you don't rattle your sabers.”

The Commonwealth has no system of jurisdiction, crime is either not punished at all or through excessive use of violence. It's not that Levi is unfamiliar with that, yet most settlements don't have the resources for such a security buildup, relying on triggermen and guards to watch their citizens.

The irony is not lost to Levi: Hanji knows his violent nature, Erwin has put his life on the line to get him here, and all that could be futile if he gets his brain fried by a laser beam for getting into a fight. That could turn out to be the joke of the century, really.

Just for that, Levi snatches the subway token from Moblit's hand. He can play by those rules; no telling for how long, though.

“Great. So?”

The door is still locked, after all.

Moblit looks at Hanji, hesitation once more clear in his stance; Levi is willing to believe he's in charge of the Junktown, but going after project Leviathan seems to be Hanji's responsibility, at least as long as Erwin is absent.

It's the first time in a long row of days that Levi has woken up without him somewhere close by. Then again, the _human_ doesn't get cuffed while sleeping.

“Now I'd like to trade with you.” Hanji pushes their glasses up the slight bump on their nose. “Your compliance with my research for your unrestricted use of facilities of the Junktown. Access to better weapons and armor in exchange for samples of your body, tests on your physical ability.”

They speak in earnest, no trace of the demanding tone someone uses who expects negotiation and is prepared to drop the conditions a bit.

Levi balls his fist around the token; his skin feels hot and prickles, like a gust of heat singeing the outer layer. Not a muscle in his face moves, despite the illusion of trembling.

He should have known this.

“I've agreed to hear you out,” he snarls, the gravel in his voice scratches at his dry tongue. “Nothing more.”

Granted, Hanji doesn't even flinch at his gaze that has had opponents back off in spite of a gun in their hands. “That won't be enough. Ackerman has been the subject to extensive research, and we need to know what we're up against once we-”

“I'm not your lab rat.” It hurts to speak, his throat is so parched. Underneath his anger, his immediate disgust at the suggestion, Levi feels something colder run, something that easily seeps into his mind and refuses to drain away.

Fear. The thought of ending up in Ackerman's situation, a test subject to scientists and stripped of freedom and dignity, scares him to the core.

“You're the key,” Hanji insists, a hoarse undertone of emotion mingles; Levi can't care for it, his head is completely filled with the fact that he's locked up, that he's not free, and that there are strangers who want something from him he's not willing to give, and that his refusal is not accepted-

“Doctor, this is not the right moment.” Moblit's voice has changed into a flat drone, the tone commonly expected from a robot; Levi's gaze flits to him to see if he'll attack, yet the synth has put his hands behind his back again, awkwardly twisted. The corner of his mouth on the damaged side of his face twitches until it looks like the parody of a crooked smile.

But he's not smiling. Not at all.

“Hanji,” he repeats – the mechanical voice is unable to speak gently, maybe it wouldn't even try. “Please remember who you're talking to.”

The doctor is pale and tense. All of Levi's thinking has switched into full alert, ready to fight if anyone moves: nobody does, knowingly. He doesn't have his weapons in direct reach, but he can take them on, and he'll do so on the slightest challenge. Sweat makes his shirt stick to his back between his shoulder blades, burns in the freshly closed claw scratches and sticks his hair to his forehead. He's vaguely aware his body is still strained and not in the condition for a battle, and since he can't run, he has to be fast and conserve what strength he has.

He can't allow it.

Hanji lets out a quiet breath and their shoulders drop as they bury their fingers in brown hair. Their hands shake. “I never learn,” they mutter. It sounds weary beyond their age. “Christ, this isn't what I-... Nevermind. The bathhouse is to the right, the place with the water pumps.”

They don't try to assure Levi that he's safe here anymore, sensing that it wouldn't be credible, that nothing of the sort is. Not right now, and Levi isn't sure this can even change.

He hasn't heard the door unlocking while his focus has been on the others, and now he can't tell when it clicked open – the only thing that counts is that he can get out. Without sparing another glance, Levi slips out and slams it shut, then leans against the steel wall as his knees threaten to give out.

Is this still his body struggling with the stress it's been through, or Ackerman's memory that rises up? This whole situation is surreal. Levi becomes aware he's breathing quickly and wipes his face with his sleeve, waits for his senses to calm while taking in the cool air. The subway token is still in his fist, the outline of the chip digs into his palm.

A few concrete steps lead up to the surface, though since he's hidden from sight here, Levi waits until he has his body under full control before taking them. Truth to be told, his knees still feel like they might give out, and he won't have that.

“It might be better if you let Erwin handle this.”

Moblit's voice is faint, too faint for normal ears, but Levi can hear him. His voice has regained melody again, as if it drops back into robot-speech when he's under pressure. It's possible. Everything is. Nothing is.

Hanji scoffs quietly. “You haven't seen them together, Mo. There's...” A mumble that's too low even for Levi to hear, and someone above him begins to noisily saw something fibered. “Can't claim I'm doing any better, though.”

“He did want to stay till he woke up. We could just wait for-”

“Remember how I tend to infuse the ventilation system with soporifics, should the occasion call for it?”

“That's... unfortunate timing.”

“I didn't think I'd need Erwin around that soon... Seemed like a good idea.”

Moblit is too tactful to say something about that, and Levi has heard enough anyway – his legs are stable enough, and he can't expect those people to speak about any details of their plans where he can hear them. He takes the stairs, his muscles seem to grow stiff with the motions; if this is what aftereffects of a seizure feel like, at least he has probably never had one. It's different from the fatigue after extreme exhaustion, like his head is stuffed with cotton wool and every sound, even the light is harsh.

The Junktown lies before him, keeping what its name promises: it's a junkyard, albeit a very busy one. Masses of scrap metal, skeletons of cars and the common mortar made of general trash have been shaped into defensive walls, creating a round cauldron. Shipping containers serve as houses, hazardously stacked or half buried, and under panels of corrugated steel and insulated canvas, a few shops have opened. Multiple welding shops of varying degrees of professionalism line with cooking stations and wide assortments of trading goods, cables and chains of lanterns are spanned above. It's a confusing mess to Levi's strained eyes, impossible to say who actually lives here and who's merely passing through, and the smells of different operating processes he can't tell apart makes his eyes water.

At least the security measures Moblit has spoken of seem small and subtle: flat laser turrets are perched on containers or fixed in corners, eyebots whir through the air and broadcast advertisement and news, no doubt keeping their sensors out for trouble as well. Levi spots two large 'glass coffins' with inactive Protectrons, but no one openly patrols the settlement.

Not that it seems necessary. A large crane that once must have moved the junk is the center of the place, an old trailer with an increased number of windows and equipped with spotlights now looms over everything. Apparently the place where Moblit does his surveillance, if he's not busy writing indignant notes on the quality of Levi's gear.

He doesn't see vegetable gardens or fruit trees, however. The cattle around is obviously for transport and not for sale, the water pumps seem to be for industrial use rather than soil irrigation. Levi heads for them, since Hanji pointed them out to lead to the bathhouse. His legs feel heavy and with these people all bustling about, it's exhausting to dodge his way through. He doesn't want to stay here, but he needs some more rest, and even if he finds Erwin to get this shitty talk done, Hanji mentioned he's sleeping anyway. Levi knows it's difficult to wake him under normal circumstances, so he's probably useless with soporifics.

Judging by the mostly not yet lighted lanterns and the gray sky, it's late afternoon to early evening, so he hasn't been out for more than a couple of hours. It looks like it will rain soon, and Levi hurries to reach the bathhouse and get out of the hustle: caravans are preparing to leave or settling, people finish their work or crowd around the few stalls for dinner, and everybody seems to exactly run into his way during those tasks. Levi nearly bumps into a woman carrying an armful of melons and mumbles something none too polite, shoves a smoking caravan guard away and finally reaches that place. At least he can assume it's the bathhouse: it has two funnels, one looks like it's breathing humid steam, and the walls are pieced up of plastic, steel and rubber. No wood, obviously. The Junktown seems to have little use for flammable building material.

Levi pushes the heavy door open – or does it just seem heavy to his weary muscles? – and enters. The warm fog prickles on his dry skin and soothes his eyes a little.

There is no separate space for women, but at least the tubs (large round pails that look like they've once been used to mix concrete in them) are surrounded by partitions made of painted fiberglass. A hose from the ceiling is used to fill the tubs, and for once, Levi doesn't care whether it's clean or they will want his soul in exchange for hot water.

He dumps his stuff next to the tub, pulls the partition shut and strips; despite Hanji probably objecting to that, he also removes the bandage from his arm. It stings and the stitches are still swollen, but the unpleasant warmth around the wound is gone.

The partitions are, naturally, covered in graffiti. They blur before Levi's eyes, and he hurries to sit down and turn the water on. It's still cramped, even for someone of his size, other people probably just take showers while standing. It sounds sensible to stay out of water that will be murky from all the dirt on his body, but it's... so, so exhausting. Levi follows through with his cleaning routine, yet he must concentrate on staying awake. The warm water isn't helping, there's even a small bar of soap that smells like chamomile and antiseptic-

_Little moon_ .

Levi frowns as he rinses his hair and back again – maybe he can make sense of that dream when he's more awake, maybe it will return to him. It felt... peaceful, familiar. And that could mean that it's not his own memory, because he has never been at peace. Nobody has ever stroked his hair and murmured softly to him, pulled up his blanket. It seems like something you'd do for someone weaker. A parent to a child, perhaps, or an older sibling. At least someone taking that role. Ackerman might have had people like that around him.

Levi closes himself against the bitterness, refuses to see it as something that could have a connection to him. It's not. It's the life of a stranger.

There are no towels, likely because he hasn't 'traded' his visit here. Levi simply shakes himself like a wet dog and pulls his clothes on again – it's disgusting, but he's not going to run around naked, and once he's rested, he can wash his stuff. If those fuckers refrain from burning it, and he knows how to prevent that.

And then, he will leave here.

Truth to be told, Levi doesn't remember much after that. He's aware he has left the bathhouse and found Moblit waiting for him. He must have offered one of the simple steel cabins where travelers seem to rent when staying in the Junktown, and it's dark, so Levi apparently agreed to take one.

When he sleeps, he dreams of open spines, snapping jaws and bloody knives plunging into his back, again and again.

 

When Levi awakes, it's dark again – the next night, he can tell by his dry mouth and the gnawing hunger in his stomach.

His muscles move smoother when he sits up on the narrow foldaway bed, his senses have returned to normal. Dim light falls through the two windows in the cabin, the ceiling fan hums, but the Junktown is mostly quiet, safe for its ever-working machines.

His first glance goes to the door. It's barred, he doesn't quite remember fixing the handle with wire, though it looks like his own handiwork. And then he realizes with a clear mind what a ridiculous effort that is, because in a place with laser turrets and fancy robots all around, a bit of wire is pitiful shit.

And that isn't the only thing that makes a comparison between Levi and the Junktown unflattering for his ego. This is no place where he can hope to win if he fights.

The subway token is carefully placed on top of his coat, which is folded on the ground beside the bed; there's no furniture except for said bed and a small wall closet.

Levi doesn't turn on the light as he gets up and takes his coat, then systematically checks its pockets. Nothing seems to be missing, aside from the stuff he has lost or used himself, but the order is... different in a way that's hard to describe. Someone has been digging though it with accuracy, and because Levi doesn't keep sentimental junk to drag around, this is the most personal thing to him. They searched it; and he doesn't know what they've done with his body while he's been unconscious. Tending to his wounds, obviously, running tests whether he's ill or-

Where do they stop?  _Do_ they stop?

He needs to run. Suddenly, it's all so very clear, he can't wait here and expect them to accept if he refuses to contribute. Erwin might, but Erwin has all those stupid words and his firm convictions and believes him to be some sort of redeemer. Someone he needs to sit by and hold his goddamn hand until he wakes up, despite being dead on his feet. Someone who might run his hand through black hair if he thinks it won't be noticed because that man is asleep.

_I will kill you before they get you_ . 

Whoever promised that to Ackerman failed him, but yes, Erwin wouldn't do that, would he?

A low clang startles Levi out of his thoughts, and it takes a moment to realize someone has carefully knocked on the door. With something metallic as well, by the tinny sound of it.

“Sorry to wake you,” a quiet voice says, Levi is quite sure he's never heard it before, “I know it's late. I've got my hands full, but I brought us something to eat, and it's getting cold.”

It's a strangely low tone, gentle without being patronizing or overly cautious. Though it seems... soft, always a bit too faint to hear it well, and tired.

And who the hell is 'us', anyway?

To his relief, Levi finds the Scorpio underneath his coat; around here, you don't take anyone's gun without permission, still he hasn't been so sure he'd get it back. As he checks the magazine, a second knock comes, slightly louder.

“It's drizzling into the gumbo,” the voice points out, a little rueful. “And my arms are getting tired. Do you think you could answer?”

Levi hasn't slipped into his boots yet, so his feet make no noise as he sneaks to the one window facing the Junktown, his back to the wall as to not present an easy target. Although the call is so obviously a trap that he has to wonder whether 'gumbo' is any kind of weapon he should know – this would make a lot more sense if it clearly were a threat.

It's dark and foggy outside, but enough for Levi's eyes to make out a single person. No visible guns, no light either, and what they're holding might even be a tray, though Levi doesn't believe for a second that it contains food. It's difficult to see more, the drizzle blurs his sight through the plastic pane.

The door is the only way to leave, the windows itself are fixed and Levi doesn't want to wake the settlement by destroying them. He could wait for his idiot visitor to leave, but there's a note of insistence in those words, and someone who comes barging in in the middle of the night and presumably wakes others up might not just turn around and go. Assholes, the whole lot.

Levi moves to the door and unhooks the wire, index finger on the trigger and aiming at the lock. Then he pulls the door open and removes the safety with a menacing click.

The person in front of him doesn't move immediately, then ducks their head with a sheepish little chuckle that's so out of place Levi nearly slams the door shut again.

“I was hoping you could take the tray, but it seems you have your hands full as well... So. Can I come in?”

Levi knows he's in control as long as he can see the other's hands, so he takes his time considering this. The voice is a bit hoarse and impossible to read – it _sounds_ friendly, but he doubts neighborhood-visits like this one are common in the Junktown, so it's someone who's sought him out. Levi doesn't like the interest, nor does he trust it.

The smell of spices and coffee, though, is real. Levi isn't sure what he should make of the steaming little pot and the battered can, but they seem to contain a very late dinner. No telling what else is in there, admittedly.

When the seconds begin to stretch, the stranger clears their throat. The built is rather neutral, but the voice seems male, even when it's difficult to tell with the hoarse tone. “I just arrived here, and I'm hungry. Hate to eat alone though, and Moblit is probably the only one awake right now, but it's not the same as sharing a meal.”

This keeps getting weirder. Levi can't help wondering why this guy showed up the moment he was about to leave; it's an odd coincidence or something that should make him outright wary.

Then again, he's not staying. If there's some kind of surveillance in this cabin, it won't matter much longer, and he hasn't yet made up his mind whether he wants to sneak out or simply leave through the gates, so putting up with this freak might be the lesser evil.

Plus, the food doesn't smell so bad, especially after days and days of ration packs and stale water. Levi tells himself that this plays no role in his decision-making, but he has currently been reminded on the effect of smells on emotions, especially ones from his dreams, and warm meals are simply so appealing.

Eventually, he steps out of the doorway – then realizes he has moved too quietly for the other to hear, and the few lanterns outside don't reach in here. Still his visitor enters before Levi has done anything else, proving that his night vision is either better than most people or his ears are sharp. For some reason, it slightly relaxes Levi; people who don't display any strength are always hiding something, otherwise they'd be long dead.

The stranger stops in the middle of the cabin, seems to discover the lack of elevated surface he could place his tray on, and finally lowers it on the ground with a strained groan, then a relieved sigh as the weight leaves his hands. He's only marginally taller than Levi, moisture glistens on his clothes like he really has been traveling through the drizzle, and the smell of wet wool and mud sticks to him.

Oddly enough, he hasn't made any light or asked Levi to turn it on. Instead he rises, slowly like an old man, his knees even give the low creak – it's hard to fake, admittedly. Aside from a dark knit cap covering the head, the face isn't visible for even Levi's eyes, and he remains at distance.

His visitor seems to care for that as little as the lack of light. “Oh dear,” he sighs again. “What a hike. This is pushy, but do you mind if I sit on your bed? If I sit on the floor, I'm not getting up without cramps...” An unhasty small laugh, like this would be something Levi has heard before and is tired of. “So. I'm Uri. Who're you?”

_What the fuck?_ He's playing... way too dumb. Levi stares at him, Scorpio still aimed – then slams his hand on the light switch to make sure the fucker finally gets that he's wasting time and nerves here. The brightness of the single bulb in the center of the ceiling fan flickers to life, temporarily blinding Levi's dilated pupils and forcing him to blink.

It's a ghoul.

For a second, he's actually stunned. Not that ghouls are forbidden to enter most settlements, some specifically accept them, but in a way that's hard to describe, they're still outcasts. Their skin is brown and has the texture of wrinkly leather, they have no hair, nose and ears are mostly gone and their eyeballs inevitably turn black – but that is the extent of change. Ghouls have an extremely prolonged lifespan, with some saying they're technically immortal, sterile and no more susceptible to violence or cannibalism than humans.

And still, there _is_ a difference. Ghouls are no longer human, substandard and, in the opinion of most people, time bombs; whether you're blunt or subtle about it doesn't matter, along with the fact that common ghouls won't turn feral.

When Uri gives him a small, tentative smile with a closed mouth, Levi suspects why he didn't mind the light staying off.

“I added some silt beans and wild onions, because I think you should eat your vegetables, even these days... Do you still want some?”

It's a rather superfluous question. “I let you in,” Levi stresses – the first time he speaks makes Uri smile, although there is a tinge of something both wry and weary. “You'd be surprised how many people still think that if you eat with a ghoul, you'll turn out to be the meal. The meat in there is beef, by the way... At least the can said it is.”

He begins fiddling with the tin dishes he's brought, then stirs what he calls 'gumbo' with a ladle. The smell of the stuff is attractive, the sight... not so much. To Levi, the stew looks like something has been heartily sick inside a bucket with green fodder and heated it up, and the bread tugged against the side of the pot is soggy from the drizzle. It bears a striking resemblance to Erwin's shitty cooking, only the stench of something both burned outside and raw inside is missing.

Uri notices his disdain – it's hard not to – and lifts his head to wink at Levi. Actually wink, like he's not holding a gun right now. “It's not toxic, I swear. I don't know if I can be poisoned any longer, to be honest...” The ladle clinks against the inside of the pot. “But then again, I don't know whether you can, either.”

Finally, cards on the table. This has been getting unsettling, this whole nice-old-man-thing, and at last he gets down to it. Levi yanks him up by his scarf (an idiotic thing to wear, like a mobile hanging rope) and presses the muzzle of the Scorpio into Uri's abdomen. He feels strangely light and almost frail, but a lack of muscles don't make anyone less dangerous per se.

“What do you want?”

The flatness of Levi's voice makes it abundantly clear that he won't accept more chitchat as an answer. Uri inhales carefully against the muzzle, as if the trigger could be pulled should be breathe too openly, his black eyes are impossible to read. People call them soulless because of that.

“Talk.” Uri lifts his hands slowly in a pacifying gesture, like he doesn't want to spook a wild animal. And that seems to be what he's doing: talk gently, offer it food, no hasty moves and no weapons.

Levi will have none of that.

“Moblit asked me to come as quickly as I could,” Uri goes on when Levi doesn't react, or he chooses to overlook the iciness in his gaze. “Though he deemed it too risky to tell me why exactly. From experience, this means he's at a loss what to do.” He sighs, quietly. “Seeing you, I'm not surprised. They're all brave warriors, Erwin can give good speeches, too, but talking... That's not something they ever learn.”

Is it another coincidence that he mentions Erwin, of all people? However, Levi doesn't know how many members the Junktown has, and if they're far-flung, who would even be in the area. He chooses to ignore the mention for now; he can feel the warmth of the pot in his calf where one foot stands close to the tray, measure the strength of the man he holds up. The baggy clothing could hide a number of weapons, but Uri's hands are too far to reach them, and his sleeves have slipped to his elbows when he has lifted his hands. No buckled knives there.

Levi withdraws the Scorpio and the small gust of wind hits his neck as Uri exhales in relief. He hasn't let go of the scarf yet, the fabric is rumpled in his fist.

“You're here to tell me what's going on with the project.”

Levi has assumed that this is what 'talk' is about, since it's the only thing he wants from them, but to his surprise, Uri chuckles – the sound abruptly breaks off as Levi tightens his grip on the scarf and wraps it around his fist. Not enough to strangle, though not quite far from it, either.

“Sorry.” Uri's hands instinctively go to his throat to pull the fabric away and give himself more breathing room. “For laughing, that is. I don't know a lot about that, actually... Erwin has always been secretive, for good reasons. And to be honest...” He takes another wheezing breath, and Levi loosens his hold; strangling old men isn't really something he does. “-we expected the trail to be cold. Some of us did, my humble self as well, so all I know...” Somehow, Uri manages to smile and warm the abyss in his eyes.

“Is that you are a miracle that answered many prayers, and now nobody, including you, seems to be happy.”

At that, Levi lets him go.

The feeling of unease is strong and seems to come out of nowhere, and it's even stranger that he can't place it. Uri doesn't regard him with the same intense curiosity Moblit or Hanji have, or he's hiding it extremely well. But something about the way he looks at him is odd... His face is hard to read, the only thing Levi can detect is a wistful note in his voice. It doesn't make sense.

Uri lifts his hand, then seems to think better of it and busies himself with the tray. His voice is quiet over the clatter of dishes. “Want any coffee? It's the middle of the night, admittedly. It was the only thing I could find in the dark, and we're pretty much out of tea.”

If he finds it impolite to have a gun still pointed at him, he doesn't let on – then Levi realizes he has lowered his arm somewhere along the man's chatter. He perches on the foot of the bed and warily accepts the steaming bowl and the tin cup Uri hands him. The man is reasonable enough to sit at the head and thus keep enough distance, and Levi stiffens at the precariously balanced coffee cup on the mattress.

Well, it's not his bed. He doesn't need to care.

They eat in silence. The gumbo-thing doesn't taste bad, just somewhat peculiar, and it's so spicy it makes Levi's eyes water – _if_ there is any poison, it's covered up by that alone. Though Uri is right assuming that poisoning Levi isn't that easy.

Eating something warm in relative peace does calm him, even when Levi hasn't been aware of his frayed nerves. He's still on edge, but as long as it's dark, he allows himself to be deceived with safety.

Uri seems to know exactly. Which is why he has been called here, but he doesn't have the strength to stop Levi if he leaves, nor does he appear to want that. So they're good.

_Don't trust him._

The Scorpio is still wedged between his knees, reminding him that he could-

_Why?_ This is some guy, either friendly or annoying, but nobody he needs to consider killing. Since when is there a temptation to harm those obviously weaker than him? That's nothing like him. He's strong, not brutal. He's not.

“You're shaking,” Uri comments softly, and before Levi grasps his words, a frail brown hand reaches over to lay on his lower arm. Levi can feel it through his thin sleeve, the warmth, the gentleness, and he wants nothing more than wrench it off. It takes all of his self-discipline to suppress that urge, knowing that Uri's bones would break in his grip like twigs, that he could damage them beyond use if he uses his full strength. He wants to and doesn't know why.

Eventually, the shaking stops. And so does the urge to crush bones. The handle of the tin cup is slippery with sweat as Levi takes a sip to wet his parched throat.

“Sorry.”

He doesn't know what he apologizes for – or he does, but Uri doesn't.

Levi glances at him and is greeted with an indescribably sad smile that tells him that Uri knows, has known before he chose to place his hand on Levi's arm.

“What has this world done to you, dear boy.”

It's not a question, and despite that Levi wants to answer. Then can't find his voice inside a strange, sealed lump in his throat, so he doesn't speak. Until he manages a hoarse huff, fairly decent so far, and the sliver of vulnerability passes – at least he hopes so.

“It's Levi.” Under no circumstances will he be referred to as 'dear boy'.

Uri withdraws his hand and pours himself some more coffee, humming as he carefully arranges his fingers on the handle so he won't get burned. “It's a good name,” he says lightly, as if this whole tension has gone entirely unnoticed by him. “That reminds me that I was named after Uri Phoebus ha-Levi... He lived in the late seventeenth century, I believe, and he printed the first Yiddish translations of the Tora. My parents always stressed the importance of passing our cultural essence to the next generation.” He sips his coffee and grimaces, either because he has burned his tongue or at his own words. “And now we've lost so much of it; printed media is nothing anymore, as is religion. I'm glad they didn't live to see it.”

Something very old resounds in that remark, in the way he casually mentions ancient history and stuff that's too absurd for anyone to make up on the spot. Levi eyes him from the side, willing to join the chitchat a little until he's got his nerves back. “Sounds long ago.”

“I suppose.” The dry edge in Uri's reply is new. “When the bombs fell, I had eleven days to go until my forty-third birthday.”

Levi nearly spits out coffee, forgetting briefly to measure anything that guy says with care. “You're... pre-War?!”

He almost can't believe it; technically, ghouls can make it that long, at least he's heard of a few who remember the fallout, but most of those have been trapped somewhere or are generally off the rails. Not that Uri can't be howling at the moon in his free time, however... He doesn't  _seem_ old. He must have seen generations of people come and go and still has patience with their shit, who  _would_ ?!

Uri regards him with amusement: guessing Levi's thoughts isn't a hard task, impassive as his face might be. His silence says everything. “You're free to doubt it. Some never quite buy the story, and I can't prove I'm not making anything up. And others...” Uri shakes his head with a small chuckle. “They'll ask about the old world, like children demanding me to tell them a story. It makes me laugh a little... Then I remember those I compare to children have killed again and again just to stay alive, they haven't been children for a long time at all, and that laughter dies. Born to atone for what my generation has 'passed on' to you.”

What he speaks is bitter, and at the same time, his tone is matter of fact. Levi has never considered himself to atone for anyone, then again, his circumstances are different. Yet if Uri really doesn't know, then he won't tell him and earn more of this... pity.

Or is compassion? He doesn't know. He has never met anyone who feels responsible for the Great War, and if Uri does...

“So you were a soldier.”

Uri coughs at that, politely swallowing what comes dangerously close to a grin. “Good Lord, I... No. I was... I'd like to say I was a scientist, though not many would have agreed at that time.”

The old world must have been complicated then. Levi impatiently raises his brows, not sure whether he's looking at hesitation out of embarrassment or merely a pause to think of an easy explanation. “What was your thing?”

Uri coughs again, this time definitely sheepish. “To be frank... Alien species. Extraterrestrial life. Space topography. Well, I was... kind of a hobby scientist, and now I'll never get a degree, so...”

He breaks off, sensing Levi's tension.

Does he know Ackerman is suspected to have been the offspring of an alien species? It seems like an odd coincidence that Uri names this as his area of expertise, and coincidences seem to gather around that man already. It's... tiring to suspect it, but at least it doesn't sound like he necessarily means to cut Levi up and inspect the layers of his skin, more like he's all philosophical about the universe and shit. Levi doesn't know how to detect someone's scientific motivation, but he can well sense danger.

He realizes Uri has talked on, apparently getting over his abashment with it. It might be exhausting to let him blather, yet it's not building up as quickly as Levi usually feels it. It's still awkward and confusing and since Uri has called him 'boy', it seems like he sees Levi as some kind of child as well.

If you're two and a half centuries old, probably everyone is a child to you. At any rate, he hasn't tried to pinch Levi's cheek up until now.

“... rather embarrassing, but my older brother cut me slack, you might say. Always a bit nervous I'd put weird ideas into the heads of his children, though – that's likely why I enjoy telling old stories now. If you're interested, I'd love to show you some of my work on Zetans or some marvelous artifacts I've found or been given.”

He beams at Levi with such innocent enthusiasm that it would take a strong taste for cruelty to immediately turn him down – even when it's difficult to tell why it _feels_ innocent, the excitement he displays is the same burning in Hanji's eyes or mingling in Moblit's voice.

Levi clears his throat and shrugs. It's the gentlest rejection he can think of, and Uri doesn't look like he gets it for the first time. “We shouldn't start with the strong stuff anyway,” he corrects himself, shaking his head for rushing in. “Stellar maps might be more useful, if you want me to teach you.”

Levi doesn't miss the assumption that he will stay for that long, nor the implication of the rules of the Junktown: trade.

“And that'll cost me what?” he asks gruffly.

Uri rubs his chin, giving the impression of remembering just now. Or faking it.

“Well,” he mumbles eventually. “I'm not very competitive, you can tell that by looking at me. These people indulge me, I'd call it that... But I don't trade.” He sighs and bows his upper body to put the cup back on the tray with a click. “If anything, I try to soothe them. Every emotion can transform into anger over time... I'm sure you know.”

The smile Uri directs at Levi is lost in thought – then he reaches over again and pats him lightly on the back. “I'm glad you're not stiff with anger yet.”

_He has been nothing else the past days._ It's been the only thing to keep him going without reaching into feelings he just hates to have, and if it's a compliment, it's as shitty as possible. What kind of patronizing crap is this, anyway?!

“Are you fucking kidding?” Levi growls, tightening his grip on the tin cup; he doesn't need to be patient with the old idiot, Uri _has_ to be sarcastic on that one.

Although he makes a nice show of acting surprised. “You apologized, did you not?”

“I'm not-”

“They never apologized to you, right?”

Levi stares at him, both bewildered at being interrupted by a man who has seemed timid before, and the question itself. No, of course not; as Erwin said, none of them are to blame for the circumstances of Levi's existence, and measures... have to be taken.

But there's rationality and then there's reality.

Uri doesn't need his answer. At least he doesn't rub it in, and Levi feels a little foolish for snapping at him: it truly does irritate him to be patronized, but he has to accept that someone who might have survived since the world has gone down the drain does know a thing or two about judging people.

Were people any different before the War? Obviously not, if they made that fancy term 'nuclear holocaust' come true, isn't that so?

“Why do you even care?” The annoyance in Levi's voice masks his exhaustion at Uri's way of guiding this conversation, like he's subtly pointing out things. Sneaky bastard, he _does_ that, Levi only hasn't figured out his motive yet.

“I'm trying to explain.” Uri spreads his thin fingers like he means to grab something that has no substance, no shape. “These strange people, especially, who think that if they apologize, it will spite the sacrifices they've made to get this far. Show weakness and get killed. Grief, frustration, fear – it all boils down to anger. Ah, and then you come along...” He shakes his head again, smiling slightly, “with two of the angriest people I know and still you're so... flexible. It makes me think all is not lost.”

That's one of the strangest compliments Levi has ever heard, one that comes close to an insult with the mere mention of weakness. Does Uri make fun of him? Is this a joke in itself?

“Be patient,” the ghoul says softly when Levi doesn't react, like he hasn't expected him to say anything. “I know it's hard. If you can't bear it...” He gets up, slowly and carefully with an age his body does not show, smooths his frayed sleeves and turns to smile at Levi with a closed mouth. “... at least I know you had a decent meal, then. I'll leave you be now.”

He raises his hand as if to touch Levi again, then seems to change his mind and just picks up the tray with a groan. Since it's mostly empty dishes on it now, he holds it with one hand underneath and uses the other to open the door.

“Farewell, dear.”

It doesn't sound like he expects Levi to tell him goodbye as well. His steps grow faint, then disappear, leaving only the smell of gumbo and coffee and a moist spot where his coat left some rainwater on the bedsheet.

Just then, Levi feels a chill, blames it on his still tired mind and the mistake of letting Uri lull him into wary peace.

If the old man has arrived knowing nothing, like he said, why would he know who Levi came here with?

 

Levi stays the night.

He doesn't quite understand it, hasn't been able to figure it out by daybreak, and then it seems like he has only been waiting for the light and his passing chance. He doesn't want to think too much about what the old man rambled about, but something within him that has felt raw and tender stings slightly less: of course he can't trust Uri, that much is clear – yet he doesn't _have_ to reject everything he's said, some of it makes sense.

Not all of it, naturally. Levi can't understand himself, why should he bother with understanding others? They're not his friends. Albeit... interesting, a little bit. He has time to think stuff over here, though it rather feels like convincing himself more than reminding.

Having noted that, there is a small pile of spare clothes deposited hopefully in a bag on the door handle outside. Maybe with trackers sewed into the seams, but if Levi has the choice between keeping the stuff he hasn't been able to wash yet and changing into something that neither reeks nor got spattered with blood and dirt, he takes the favor.

The garments are slightly too long on sleeves and trouser legs, and going by the formal style, they belong to Moblit: the synth is taller but less muscular, and the long pant legs disappear in Levi's boots. It messes up the long, neat crease in the fabric that looks like it's meant to be there for a mysterious reason. Levi buttons up the shirt and tries to ignore the vulnerable feeling of absolutely nothing but thin cotton separating him from the world and gunshots; Moblit has added a reddish-brown vest, probably because it's supposed to be worn together, and Levi puts it on just to get rid of the illusion of being practically naked.

The sleeves fall over his hands. Levi willows them up with an irritated huff, ignoring the protest of the cuff buttons suddenly being under pressure. There is no mirror, he just _knows_ he looks ridiculous and costumed.

Flipping up the collar helps a little. Then he sets off to drop by the bathhouse and then meet those bastards.

 

His normal composure lasts to the door of the lab he stormed out of after being introduced to the rules, the subway token now rests on his breastbone, the thin chain lies around his neck. It's unfamiliar and unwelcome, but everyone here wears it like this, and Levi has figured it would be unwise to announce his special status by disobeying it. He doesn't have to trade anyway.

The memory of the flashing panic suddenly returns once he faces the door, and Levi pauses, searches for its cause. He feels normal, on alert, yet the possibility that his subconscious might attack him with symptoms unrelated to him is unnerving. If he goes in, will he, will _Ackerman_ feel caged again?

There is the hint of a rumbling sigh from inside, voices like the last time Levi has stood here, catching his breath.

It's not dangerous to go if Erwin is in there. He may not want to realize that, but he does.

Levi can always punch his way out.

“-not even _difficult_ , it's always the same time frame, and you would experience what an improvement of taste it-... Morning.”

Just like that, Levi has entered the lab – it smells different now, less antiseptic, more herbal, and the clutter of tools has changed from his last visit. The workbench has been cleared while other spaces are suddenly piled with papers, various kinds of scrap metal, wood and fiber. Even the sounds of the machines have changed, some humming, some droning, others completely quiet.

Levi can guess that this literal 'change of tune' is not an unusual occurrence here.

Hanji glances at him – the same disheveled appearance since Levi has last seen them – then pulls a drawer open, either to fish something out or to appear busy. Their greeting, at least, has sounded fairly normal.

Erwin stares a moment too long for a casual look, and Levi glares back. The other is seated on a chair near the workbench and Hanji, legs casually crossed, a steaming cup in his hand. He has bathed and changed clothes as well, thankfully, the dark cotton shirt is an unfamiliar dress-up on him, showing his muscular arms off.

And he's clean-shaven again. Levi almost regrets not having witnessed all that fur being sliced from his face.

It's no comfort that he's being appraised the same way, like it's strange to see him in more formal clothes. Or maybe it's just the joke how badly this shit fits Levi, too long and still too tight for him.

Then Erwin greets him with a tilt of his head, eyes flashing briefly with something, as if the glare means nothing. The silence stretches.

“There's tea, if you want.” Hanji reappears from the drawer they have practically dived into, a yardstick in their hand. “Be warned, though, that Erwin made it. It's dreadfully bitter.”

“It's tea,” said man remarks evenly with the same clearness he always shows if someone criticizes his cooking skills – out of unpleasant experience, Levi can tell that Erwin possesses the unusual ability to give everything a bad taste.

“I don't know, really.” Hanji gives him an exasperated look, sips their cup again and grimaces. “It's not hard, all you have to do is brew it for an _accurate_ amount of time instead of taking the leaves out when you're incidentally free.”

The door Levi has come through opens quietly, he can identify the shuffling steps and the rustle of wool even before Uri appears in the corner of his vision. By daylight, he looks just as unremarkable and harmless, corners of his mouth curled slightly in a content expression. He stands next to Levi, watching with amusement when the two others seem to fall into a routine of an old discussion. A bit forced, a bit half-hearted, like that bitterness between them is creeping in, and Levi doesn't listen to their words. It's enough to see their faces, the guarded expressions.

“As it happens,” Uri says lightly, “I think it was Mike who said that Erwin intentionally does lousy cooking. Because otherwise, he'd be a perfect wife and someone would show up to marry him for his domestic qualities.”

Levi literally can't think of anyone less 'domestic' than Erwin, at least excluding his own person. “Don't shit me, old man.”

“I'm not,” Uri replies with a small laugh, speaking quietly, but not enough to go unheard by Hanji or Erwin. “You should see the clothes he has ironed. Or the stitching. Even the laundry.”

Levi has no idea what 'ironed' is, but he can vow for the others: whatever shit Erwin may botch up, his _domestic qualities_ are above reproach, and seeing his stoic expression as Hanji lectures him about the healthy qualities of tea (“in the right dose, mind you”) makes it believable that this is exactly his train of thought.

“Sounds like a shitty twist of a man.”

Uri winks – actually winks, and it's difficult to believe his claim to be over 200 years old. It almost makes Levi's lips want to quirk. “We're full of that, dear boy. Mind if we sit down? I want some of that tea, it sounds like it's _frighteningly_ healthy.”

Levi feels like a wandering child that is introduced to the class, although schools are scarce now; Uri has that way, but when he takes his seat and invites Levi next to him, it's clear to see that this isn't everything about him. No matter how much he describes his role as someone who's merely kept around by indulgent warriors, the 'old man with the stories' is only a small part of it. Levi senses Erwin's subtle tension, Hanji's keen attention towards him, and when Moblit comes in, it's like he's drawn to the ghoul.

For a second, at least. Then his mechanical eyes settle on Levi, the sleeves and the collar and the messed-up creases in his pants, and it seems like he's choking on the desire to correct it.

Levi very slightly raises his brows, and the synth takes stance behind Hanji's chair with a pained expression.

“That's all of you? What a fucking flyspeck,” Levi sneers, meeting Erwin's calm eyes with provocation.

“Funny, I thought the same thing when I first saw you,” Hanji parries before Erwin can reply, grinning when Levi flips them off – so many people have made fun of his height already, and most of them have regretted it.

“Disappointed that Ackerman was such a little shit?”

Erwin sips his tea with absolutely no facial reaction – he always treats his cooking like it's perfectly normal – and sets it down to look at Levi, head slightly tilted, as if he actually considers this. “This is not the full extent of this group,” he says evenly, as if there has been no bickering before, “and if you wish to meet all of them, that can be arranged. It's a risk, but there is a number of trustworthy people among the Junktown. The next pack will likely arrive in a week.” At that point, he exchanges a glance with Moblit, who seems to confirm his estimation with a hint of surprise. Maybe he wonders why Erwin knows already when he was supposed to be sleeping deeply.

“Suck it up.” Meeting members – more people – is the last thing Levi wants. Depending on how much they know, they'll stare at him like he's a two-headed Deathclaw. One that can talk.

“I see.” Erwin's tone is entirely neutral, and Levi wants to elbow him. For good measure and stuff. “What we do isn't unitary at all. We focus on different goals, there is no commando structure unless we decide on a greater operation.”

Since there's not a whole lot of people here, this could mean that there aren't actually many who know about Ackerman; if so, that is a relief. Erwin's secrecy seems to extend into everything he does, and if he can help it, he seems to let only those people in on his game that could be useful.

Though considering that Uri is still here and listening, he might not have full control over who gets a few of his secrets.

“So who's boss of your...”

“Cell.” “Pack.” “Squad.”

Uri – the single person at this table who hasn't thrown in his term for it – smiles at Levi and his expression of annoyance. “This is actually normal, they all argue over the word for it. And who gets to name the team.”

“'Team' is for sports,” Hanji injects with a sudden note of tightness. “As for this bunch, we are remains of squads that were.. destroyed. We didn't form a new one, and Moblit's position is unique. As for our specific goal...” They fix Levi with their piercing stare that feels like a scalpel hovering over his abdomen. “All the squads have taken up a cause of their own – the one that's coming in next week focuses on fighting raiders and fanatics and sabotage alliances between them. Whoever's suited and willing gets support. We've never targeted something as big as... a secret scientific experiment of such importance.”

It takes Levi a moment to understand what the doctor is getting at: they're offering him a way out. He doesn't _have_ to pursue this project, he can join raider-hunters as well – there's certainly some wisdom in keeping him away from people that search for him.

He knows Erwin is studying him, gauging his reaction. Knows even without looking that Erwin doesn't want him to join another cause, and his gut is against taking the easier way out. Again. And yet, he will think this through... Because it can't be that simple, even if Hanji suggests it.

“The top goal is finding the laboratory and wipe it out completely.” Erwin's voice betrays nothing, it's stern, demanding attention. “Data I've discovered hinted at multiple directions of research, but knowing that you exist creates a new top priority. Destroying Ackerman's body.”

The air feels thin for no reason.

In the rational part of his mind, Levi knows that even though Ackerman is dead, they would never have disposed of his body; even his corpse is too valuable. Of course they'd keep it. Use it. Still. He takes a mouthful of cold tea, and the bitterness is shallow compared to the disgust that wells up inside of him.

They're watching him, naturally. Moblit is still rather fixed on his willowed-up sleeves, or he's pretending to be, Hanji has some sort of grim sympathy about them, and Erwin... now has that feverish brightness in his eyes again, just for a second.

Uri is the only one who doesn't look at Levi, his fingers lightly drum on the workbench. “You sure are brash today, Erwin.” If Levi didn't know better, he'd say Uri is actually chiding the blond. “I don't think anyone here, but Levi in particular, needs to be reminded on the gravity of the situation.”

Erwin is ever impassive about what clearly criticizes his style of leadership, and Levi senses a twitch of something that could be acknowledgment as well as animosity, depending on the relationship between them.

Yet Erwin lets the remark stand, and that belies Uri's seemingly meaningless position.

“So you have an idea where the corpse is.” Levi has never been a friend of careful words.

“I do. But it might not be complete.” Erwin isn't that fond of them, obviously.

“They chopped it up?” Levi scoffs, his mouth tastes sour with disgust. Precious, precious Ackerman – death doesn't appear to be an escape for him. Poor sod.

“It's not sure, but I wouldn't put it past them. If it's any consolation,” at that point, Hanji scratches their forehead and grimaces, “losing a 'piece' of Ackerman and therefore his genetic material could be the final disaster, so there's hope nobody split him. But generally, there's places to infiltrate, and that's where I cut in.”

Their pale lips tighten as Levi looks at them, the memory of their last encounter all to clearly in his mind – and Hanji knows it. “Yeah, my last proposal sucked, I'll admit. But if there _are_ more like you, if the research advanced to the point of more soldiers, then I – we- have to know what you're capable of. I'm not asking you to do the tests with me for free, but it's absolutely necessary.”

More like him? That sounds like a horror vision, a little army of synthetic alien monsters, a grotesque idea to Levi. But then again, some people might say his own existence is grotesque itself.

“You don't have to answer right now,” Moblit adds softly. “I'd very much like to, well, recondition your equipment and weapons, in exchange for taking part in doctor Zoe's tests. If you don't want to... I'm not short on jobs you could do instead as a trade-off. A lot of security maintenance around here.”

Levi remains quiet, thinking it over with a clearer mind, although a part of him still feels sick and cornered in here. At the same time, there are... questions he wants to ask, a lot of them, and he simply can not drag them out of his mouth.

“Will you be around until next week?” Erwin asks him quietly. Making it seem like Levi's own decision without saying 'please', not expressing hope that Levi might stay longer than that.

It's hard to answer. And hard to look at him, because the last time Levi has agreed on that, he has given Erwin something he should have kept.

“You need to stay a little longer than that, I'm afraid. I don't have a replacement for your laser musket,” Moblit says with something akin to resignation. Not that this seems to touch Erwin much, he refills his cup of tea with defiance of death. “I'll think of a deal.”

Again, continuing the conversation until Levi speaks up again, _if_ he even wants to. They have gotten so used to leaving people to their own silence that they don't seem to notice anymore when the chance to wait for that answer has passed.

“I thought of one.” Moblit's mechanical eyelids bat almost innocently. “If I could finally install that cybernetic actuator in your leg...”

If that were possible, the cool blue of Erwin's eyes practically envelops itself in frost. “No.” And there is so much rejection in that one syllable that Moblit lets it go.

Erwin likes to fix broken things, but apparently not his own body – it's an odd refusal since his limp clearly bothers him. Perhaps the surgery scares him.

Then Levi realizes he's not even thinking about his answer to Erwin's question, mostly because there isn't anything to mull over, and he's not a friend of putting things off longer than necessary.

_Don't stay. They lie. They all do._

It's almost comforting to have all that distrust in the back of his mind, whispering violence to him so he doesn't let his guard down again. When Levi rises, he has all eyes on him, from mechanical to black and human, all so expectant, so hungry.

A week. That's fucking long, but there's his tastes in life and then there's reality. Levi hisses and fixates Hanji with a cold glare. “Make it quick.”

The cynic amusement in Hanji's grin in response is something that feels familiar, in a way. He doesn't return it, yet the doctor is also his sole focus for now – despite sensing that Uri smiles at him, unsurprised and serene.

 

The Junktown is a strangely easy place to live.

It's never quiet and there's always someone around, but they don't stay, and most don't socialize. Levi is a phantom among them, faceless as ever if it wasn't for the security installments. Yet even those he learns to dodge, up to the point where he can startle Moblit by appearing out of nowhere.

Moblit is both robotic and human, manners meet mechanical expertise. Levi struggles to speak to him, but it just happens when the synth begins to craft a new dagger from the Deathclaw trophy, tentatively asking about details of the fight: the most risky situations seem to fascinate him intensely, he's nearly awed like a child at Levi's recklessness.

“Security protocols,” he adds, slightly bashful, it's a little disconcerting how his damaged eye watches Levi while the other one oversees the work of his hands. “Issues of safety are ingrained into my programs, and at this point, I couldn't remove it... You could probably guess I wasn't built for battle.”

Levi, who has problems to understand why anyone would create a highly efficient robot in times of war and _not_ use it to fight, cocks his head. “Not really.”

He lends his hand to let Moblit compare the handle to the structure of his palm, and the yellow eyes leave him for a moment. “I am-... I was a household robot. Surely you know... Well, it doesn't actually matter. I was programmed to help with advanced construction, a _MobileTechnician_ at that time. The people I assisted... colloquialized it to 'Moblit'. Berner was the name of the man I was assigned to, both for his personal home and his position as foreman of the factory.”

The master, so to speak: Moblit has been meant to serve, even given a name (if only for the sake of simplicity) and he has kept it, connecting himself to that man even though he's certainly dead by now. Levi senses the complexity of the topic in that, the forced logic. Most robots can't cope with the apocalypse they were never designed to accept, they try to treat reality the same as it was 200 years ago; it's doomed to fail. Moblit is able to do that, in a way, but he seems hesitant about it, as if he still might be wrong.

So Levi doesn't dig any deeper. “So you're as old as Uri.”

“Quasi. But very differently... old.” The fact that Moblit's speech doesn't turn tinny again as he corrects the material of the grip again, compares the small dells to the width of Levi's fingers tells that this is something he's not so insecure about. “Mr. Reiss – Uri – can vividly remember the time before the Great War. If I try the same, it's like I'm downloading a manual. I can... 'recall' materials and shapes, physical qualities, but they don't seem real to me, like the database I access is flawed. Doctor Zoe doesn't recommend trying.”

Levi is quiet, compares what he's seen and heard to this while Moblit carefully burnishes the grip again.

“You like 'em.” It's odd to say it like that, because robots aren't constructed to have feelings themselves and the synth-part is merely Moblit's body – then again, he's obviously a lot more adaptive than he's been designed to be.

“Well, yes.” Moblit eyes him curiously, probably wondering what that has to do with his memory.

“Even though they _created_ you.”

If it wasn't for Hanji, he'd be stuck being a robot: for one reason or another, he's more humanoid now, and that seems to mean something.

When Levi thinks about who might have created him, he feels like he could hate that guy without knowing a thing about him or her.

“I don't think I've ever been anyone else,” Moblit replies with the ease of someone who has 'known' all his life that he's been built for a purpose, not born into a human role.

Levi doesn't say anything more, just wishes that he could get drunk and forget like everyone else.

 

The doctor is another matter, but one that after their shitty start, Levi can deal with eventually.

He doesn't demand explanations from Hanji what the samples of his blood and spit, rarely a bit of his hair are used for (It's not like he could follow, even if Hanji agreed to tell him), just memorizes very clearly how many he's given, where they've been put, how much of his genetic material remains in the hands of the doctor. They regularly destroy it so it can't be found with them, yet there might be the moment when they keep it.

Aside from that, Hanji is relentless – if Levi suddenly decided to sleep in the lab, they'd probably stick to him all day and night until they collapsed.

It's also the first time Levi truly learns how deep the differences between him and normal humans run. And he's reminded on it whenever Hanji's eyes light up with fascination, whenever there is an astounded little huff at the screens that display Levi's reaction time, his strength, the response of his muscles.

Apparently, humans are a lot weaker than him. Having lived all his life around those who already are tough, Levi hasn't realized that.

He's forcing himself to stay still as Hanji slowly circles the low stool he's currently sitting on, their fingertips palpate his scalp, brush aside his hair and occasional press down. It's scratching at his nerves to be felt up like this, and although he's made a habit of simply enduring the doctor's poking and prodding, he's pretty sure he'll end up breaking their ribs if this continues.

“I don't fucking _have_ lice,” Levi grinds out when Hanji rubs over the side of his skull with more force than before.

“Scars,” Hanji replies calmly. “I'm palpating your scars for any traces of surgery.”

The wounds Levi has sustained have largely never been treated by a proper doctor, though Hanji probably has already realized that – but the thought that they might find the place where someone stitched shit into his head makes him sick.

They lean over him, pointing a strong, small flashlight at his scalp while parting his hair, and Levi finds his face a few inches away from their chest – he's not keen on getting that shoved up his nose, but as long as Hanji gropes for surgical scars, he'll take the subject over silence.

“So... What are you?”

“Tricky question,” Hanji mumbles absent-mindedly and pokes him with the flashlight. “Human, I'd say?”

“Got a dick or not?”

“I wasn't aware that's human-exclusive.” Hanji huffs, the warm air tickles Levi's hair line. “What does it matter?”

It doesn't, yet their tone challenges Levi in a way; he glances up, then at the lab coat dangling loosely in front of his eyes. “You look like a scrawny girl, but your fancy robot-synth doesn't go opening doors and shit for you.”

The short cough above him even sounds like a snicker, although Levi is never sure whether Hanji is actually amused. “I asked Moblit to not waste any chivalry on me, even when I know he can't do much against his subroutines. As for the dick-issue...” Their Irish accent somehow makes that sound entirely normal.

“... Nothing. Both. I don't know. If you feel uncomfortable undressing in front of me, I can get undressed, too.”

“Fuck, no.” Levi glowers at the suggestion, and Hanji withdraws their hands from his scalp, lets them sink to their sides. The light from above catches in their glasses, hiding their eyes, but by now, Levi feels the x-ray-stare anyway – he's gotten used to it.

“Gender roles make my work easier,” Hanji states. “In Goodneighbor, being taken for a woman has been beneficial – people are less likely to see you as competition for something, the head of the Neighborhood Watch is slightly protective of women, and Carla might have been more on guard with a man. Other places, being a man makes sexual assaults less frequent, trade is simpler, people might trust your competence.”

They tug at a strand of brown hair, thoughtfully as if considering to cut it off. “The estro-... female hormones haven't worn off yet, so I'm sort of a mot now.”

“Like hell you are.” Levi is not terribly curious about science, but drugs that can change your gender are more like a fairy tale – and a dumb one at that, since humanity has deemed the creation of amusement drugs a far more deserving goal.

Hanji raises an eyebrow at him and promptly begins unbuttoning the lab coat, though Levi doesn't believe they'll pull it off until half of the way.

It turns out that Hanji doesn't make empty threats when it comes to proving something.

So the doctor is a goddamned freak, but honest to some extent. Levi almost smiles, even when he can't tell how much of that is due to relief when at least for now, Hanji doesn't find anything sewn into his skull.

 

There are no more dreams.

Levi waits for them, for more glimpses that are too faint and yet too concrete to be mere products of his imagination, but they don't come. He hasn't told anyone either, Hanji's curious stare is directed at enough of him already, and he's not sure why it would be their business, anyway.

It's not like it's his own memory, or at least his own fantasy. It's Ackerman's, and Levi has no idea how to unlock the knowledge that this man could keep from everyone. And Levi still isn't sure he wants to uncover it.

He's lying on the examination couch, _again_. Not cuffed this time, and he's alone, safe for the odd machine Moblit has pulled over him: like a metallic ribcage that scans his body with fingers of light, then occasionally rumbles and hums before starting the procedure again, from the bottom to the top.

While the first days have been dedicated to testing his physical ability and do global check-ups on his health, Levi senses that they're now starting to get to the question that these past investigations haven't been able to answer.

What kind of creature _is_ he? Between the choice of being a synth or a monstrosity from out of space or a new form of mutant, Levi isn't certain which he'd prefer.

But the monster sounds fine. At least it's not artificial.

With nothing else to do than lie here and wait for the scan to be over, Levi nearly welcomes the sound of the lab's door opening – the examination couch is placed inconveniently to reach the power supply, so he can't quite see the doorway, but it's secured with a special security mechanism.

That, and Levi recognizes the slight arrhythmia in the steps entering the lab.

Apart from Hanji and Moblit, who display scientific interest in spending time with him (though it's difficult to say how deep Moblit would dive into the issue without Hanji's obsession prompting him), Uri is the only one who seeks his company. Since Moblit is the single permanent inhabitant here, interaction is sparse.

If Erwin had left without informing Levi, that wouldn't be a surprise. Levi simply knows he hasn't.

A coward, however.

Erwin steps into his peripheral sight, still with the short sleeves and a simple holster. He seems to study the monitors for a few seconds, perhaps waiting for a reaction – none of them is a greeting-type, really. Mornings always used to start with a curt nod or something.

“How are you coming along?”

Levi scoffs, fixing his eyes stubbornly to the ceiling. “Ask the fucking machine.”

“I'm asking you.”

“Because you trust my judgment now.” Levi doesn't put any sarcasm into his voice, knowing that the sheer blankness of it gets through to Erwin.

“I care.” Erwin sounds neutral, too. A hint defiant, maybe, but Levi hasn't deigned a straight glance at him yet, and a part of him wants to stay mulish until Erwin loses patience and leaves.

Although that'd be the doing of a coward as well.

“Why?” Levi turns his head on the cushion, only to have the scanner beep in reprimand for moving. Nonetheless, Levi cranes his head to look at Erwin, consciously puts him under pressure of time because if this thing keeps screeching, Moblit is likely to show up rather sooner than later – and Erwin seems to have sought out a moment when Levi is alone, rare as they are.

The second he sees the little twitch around the corner of Erwin's mouth, Levi knows his train of thought has been figured out; and Erwin doubtlessly is a shitty bastard, but he appreciates someone turning the tables on him. Levi remembers this from moments that weren't quite so strategically bitter.

“I'll bring order to this world. Project Leviathan is an incalculable threat, even before it's finalized.”

Levi huffs, his eyes follow Erwin as the man takes stance beside the examination couch, allowing Levi to see him without cricking his neck. He eventually moves his head back into the soft hollow of the cushion, and the beeping stops.

He doesn't buy that this is Erwin's goal, some general platitude without personal motivation – someone as well-educated as him _must_ have a background that prepared him to fight against an Institute-group, otherwise he'd have to downgrade his ambitions big time. Like everyone else.

But he won't talk to this about Levi. For one reason or the other, he sticks to his phrases and thinks they'll be enough... At that, Levi simply closes his eyes and waits for him to get the message – he's dismissed.

To his surprise, this gesture of obvious disinterest has the opposite effect.

“I know you can cope with this situation. But if there's anything that would make it easier for you, I'll try to implement it.”

Levi makes a small, dry sound that Erwin may interpret to his own liking. “Even chems?”

While Hanji has grudgingly admitted that Levi doesn't have the parameters of addiction in his blood, they also made abundantly clear that they blame this on his high resistance against medical agents, and that his health would profit from abstinence after running on chems from Goodneighbor to here.

Erwin probably knows that, apart from the common fact that drugs do screw up your body. Even for aliens and mutants, Levi assumes.

“Whatever you want,” Erwin replies flatly, not even hesitating to think. It actually makes Levi open his eyes again, but Erwin's face is just as blank, betraying no judgment.

The temptation to go back to his habits has been there, currently stalled by the thought whether chems, combined with fatigue or hunger, will bring back what seemed like Ackerman's voice in his head – and whether Levi wants that. He remembers it, cool and heavy and absolutely controlled, though what if that is just a hallucination?

Also, Erwin doesn't ask for anything in return. Yet. He's not like Moblit, he doesn't give presents. He just invests.

“When did you know.”

Levi tells himself he's merely putting off the answer by asking a question himself – he doesn't quite believe it, especially with his voice not doing the inquiring trick; he's never been good with that.

Erwin doesn't immediately answer, either because he's struggling with the mental leap or because he's putting something together, but Levi won't let him – this time, he raises his head on impulse, even as the machine beeps in alarm. “What gave me away?”

It's a question that, despite being irrelevant to the present, keeps gnawing on him.

The expression flitting through Erwin's eyes is too fast, like a silvery fish in a deep pond, hiding deep beneath the surface until the predator loses interest. “Nothing did.”

“You fucking _rat_ -” Levi is up, dragging himself out of the blinking ribcage around the examination couch – he doesn't carry a weapon and he's not wearing anything safe for a ridiculously thin lab coat, but he doesn't doubt that he can cause Erwin some damage; ire spurs him on, mixed with a stab of loathsome insecurity.

The machine screeches in protest until Erwin slams his flat palm onto a part of the panel and the sound is abruptly cut off. He's up, hands half raised, his only form of self-defense: no weapons out, a deep crease between his brows. Frustration that he seldom wears so openly.

“I didn't know,” he repeats slightly louder as Levi swings his legs from the examination table and lands on the cold concrete floor.

“Shove your bullshit,” Levi hisses over the pounding of his own blood in his ears, eyes swiping over Erwin to find a good opening for a punch, anything that'll make him double over from his fucking high stand-

“I can assure you,” Erwin guards the left side of his ribs with his upper arm and elbow as soon as he sees Levi's gaze linger there, “that I wouldn't have entered a personal relationship with someone of crucial importance.”

That's an opening of another kind that just too good to pass up. “Personal relationship, my ass. We _fucked_. Nothing more.”

It's hard to tell how much pain those words cause, and on which level, but Levi senses a tiny flinch somewhere. The satisfaction is unworthy, yet it clears his angry mind a bit.

“Is that even special?” Erwin asks, though the dismissive tone is a little off. “Is that all?”

No, it's not, and he damn well knows it. It's sleeping curled against someone's chest when you could find your bed elsewhere, allowing someone to watch your back – it's trust. The physical closeness is a part of that, but there's more.

Levi briefly flashes his teeth as if he's about to bite. “You tell me.”

There's even the slight possibility that Erwin tells him the truth this one time, because sex is something he sets strange, outdated rules for; like when he refused to say whether he's slept with Mikasa. It doesn't make anything better, like a potential partner needs to be expendable – at least that's what it sounds like in Levi's ears.

“Whatever you want,” Erwin echoes, his voice cold and coarse.

So it _was_ a good punch.

“Answer my question.” Levi cocks his head, flexes his fingers at his sides as if he considers closing them into fists again. “When?”

“At the Third Rail.” Erwin ignores the unbelieving scoff as he goes on: “The drinking game didn't affect you at all, and I knew you weren't cheating. Hanji's scan was meant to clear out my doubts, not confirm them.”

It's such a stupid lie that Levi wonders why he's expected to believe it; anger scratches at his tone again. “Are you even trying, bastard?! You wanna tell me your hearing's so piss-poor you didn't recognize my voice, like your shitty doctor did?”

Erwin doesn't even blink. “You're different from him.”

“Really?” Levi all but snarls, knocking his fist against his chest with a dull thump. “Because you seem to know just _how_ to pull my strings, is that your huge turn-on? Does it get you up good to ram your _human_ dick into some artificial shit you know more about than anyone?!”

“You're better than human,” Erwin replies, a note of anger draws his voice tight; along with something that sounds like puzzlement.

“Is that everything that matters.” It feels like Levi's throat has closed up, no hysteria this time, just anger. At Erwin, always, but deeper, stronger against the powerless position he's in and can't seem to fight his way out.

“No.” The corner of Erwin's mouth twitches, though it's impossible to see whether it might have been an expression of irritation or something gentler. “But everything connected to you matters, that's your common ground with Ackerman.”

He must have sounded a lot more self-pitying than he wanted, Levi thinks. He raises his hands to press the heels of his palms into his eye sockets until the darkness is dotted with bright stars, then he wills down the swamp of emotion that does him no good; never has, never will. “Fuck this,” he exhales and thinks he hears Erwin sigh.

Just like he doesn't think he's imagining the tiny raise of temperature in the curve of his neck, like something hovers there. “When the next pack comes,” Erwin starts, his tone only a little softer now, “Levi, I-”

And that shitty moment, Levi hears the door creak. He drops his hands and blinks the stars away; Erwin has already withdrawn what was presumably his own hand, his expression closed and stern again.

But it's not Moblit coming to check on the machine – it's Uri.

“Hello there,” he greets amiably, either ignoring the tension in the room or actually not noticing; albeit knowing that old fox, this can't escape his notice. “Is everything still alright?”

The question is directed at Levi, who has no idea how to respond – until he guesses that Uri means the medical check-ups and just shrugs.

“Good thing.” Uri's black gaze shifts to Erwin, and if Levi isn't fooled by the blond's impassive expression, Uri probably isn't, either. “Some folks from Goodneighbor have arrived. It might be for the best if you deal with that, Fahrenheit is among them.”

Erwin nods curtly, though it seems more like an acknowledgment than thanks, then glances at Levi before leaving the lab in a brisk pace with his back very straight.

“He doesn't like me.” Uri scratches under the band of his knit cap, smiling a little ruefully. “I once told him he reminds me on someone I used to know, and... it might be a little unsettling to hear that, 200 years away.”

While Levi doesn't believe Erwin would actually care about that, he can't disagree with the subtle caution, possibly even antipathy the other man appears to harbor for Uri. But what's stranger is the way Uri has butted in just now, something he normally never does.

“What is it, old man.”

This day contains too many questions, and to be honest, Levi doesn't feel like talking anymore; again, Uri acts deaf to the subtext as he inspects the combinations of numbers Moblit has noted down during his tests, even when they likely don't tell him more than Levi. “I was going to keep you company – I didn't know that was no longer necessary.”

Especially not since Uri has made sure Erwin would leave, but it doesn't really matter: the machine is turned off, and Levi couldn't reactivate and calibrate it even if he wanted to, so he might as well get dressed and leave. The cabin fever isn't as bad because he spends so much time mulling over useless shit that his brain seems to steam, but staying in this lab is something he'll only do when he needs to.

Once the next pack arrives, he has been offered to go with them. And that probably was what Erwin was going to do: ask him to remain, maybe go with him again instead. And he looked like he was determined to do it, if Uri hadn't practically forced him to interrupt his conversation.

Despite everything Levi has been brooding about, he's not quite sure how he would have responded.

“He got what he wanted,” he mumbles, more to himself, as he disappears behind the makeshift screen to change back into his clothes.

“People like him never think so,” Uri remarks without surprise.

Levi says nothing, which is usually the fastest way to get Uri quiet – there's companionable silence, which is admittedly a little soothing, and then there's this, when he truly doesn't want anyone close.

He should have known that Uri ignores it this time. Damn the old idiot.

“It's complicated between you two, isn't it?”

Levi glowers at a dark rim of dust in the corner, wishing not for the first time that Moblit's subroutines were a bit more fixated on cleaning instead of repairing, then pulls the lab coat over his head and rubs his hand over his hair to get rid of the small static charge. “Spit out what you want.”

“We all _want_ a lot of things, but what counts is what we _need_ , Levi.”

Quietly, Levi drags up his pants and fastens them. Uri's voice continues, no closer than before, unobtrusive.

“Some people,” the ghoul says, “they treat their own heart like the box of Pandora – do you know the story? The box that contains all that is evil in the world, and if you open it, it will spill out and can never be locked away again. Though hope is the only thing that remains in the box.”

A short, dry chuckle that sounds amused yet doesn't feel light.

“Some say that's because hope is the worst of all evils. Regardless of the philosophical aspect, I feel more comfortable knowing I told you.”

For that superfluous bit of poetry? Levi fastens the buttons of his shirt and rolls up his sleeves again: Moblit has asked him to keep the plain clothes for the sake of his healing wounds, although those hardly bother him anymore. But this is easier to take off and put on than Levi's usual gear, and on some level, he acknowledges that Moblit seems to be concerned for him – the robotic part of his consciousness probably tells him that humans don't heal that fast and need more rest.

Uri seems to wait for a reaction before he can bugger off, and Levi grunts impatiently. He's in no mood to read what the old man wants to actually tell him; if there's anything at all. Sometimes it seems like Uri's speech turns inward, as if he's talking to himself rather than anyone around. Once you hit that age, you're pretty much allowed to go senile.

“All I'm saying,” Uri adds, like he's guessed Levi's thoughts, “is that some people are right to be so cautious. If you feel hope, then you have already opened the box.”

Levi shoves the screen aside, half-expecting Uri to be at the door already – but the old man is still standing where he has been when Levi has gone to change, hands clasped in front of his belly, his wrinkled face open and – if that even exists – honest.

“Petra and her pack will be here in a few days,” he continues, as if Levi weren't glaring at him. “They're good people. I think you'll like them.”

The gaze of his black eyes is surprisingly hard to endure, harder than Moblit's scanners that read heart rates and brainwaves. Not nearly as piercing, but it feels like it's reaching out to something that Levi can't even place.

He brushes past the other man without a word, considers running again – and discards the idea, _again_.

 

However, there is something else he has to do and that Uri's strange advice has pointed out.

Levi is a practical man: philosophy matters little to him, nor does he enjoy it, but the mention of a box reminds him on something a lot more self-evident than some crap about leaky containers.

He doesn't know Ackerman, not like Erwin knows him. While they were on the run, the only way of finding out more has been asking Erwin, something that would have been fruitless because the blond insisted to put it off until they reached the Junktown. And now that they are here, it turns out that this place is a base of some kind, and a lot easier than dragging it out of Erwin would be to simply find what is essentially recorded on holotapes.

Especially now that Erwin is occupied with talking to a red-haired woman with burn scars on the side of her scalp. Levi knows where his place is, and though it's certainly secured, the measures are no stricter than on any of the other shelters, lest someone gets curious.

It's odd that Levi hasn't considered breaking in anywhere until now; he normally doesn't do it, even when those people haven't respected his privacy either. But he knows how to pick locks, and better yet, he has watched Moblit program his eyebots and knows their blind spots.

Deep inside, Levi knows why he's been reluctant to go this far. As much as he despises the secrecy, he doesn't want to hear the commanding voice again, so much like his own, hateful and familiar.

But he needs to solve his own murder.

 

Erwin doesn't occupy a steel cabin like Levi does, not even a heightened place with a good view of the surroundings: actually quite the opposite. It's an old train cabin that apparently got dumped on the junkyard, now it lies half-buried. Erwin seems to be drawn to shelters underground, either based on experience or on his upbringing.

After all, he has the fair complexion and bright eyes of someone not born under the sun.

Despite sticking to Moblit's civil dresscode, Levi carries equipment around, and it doesn't take more than steady fingers and a keen eye to pick the lock of the train cabin, then lift the bar on the inside that falls into place if you don't turn the 'key' often enough. Levi uses a thin bit of wire instead, then slips inside.

It's not homely, but that's not something he'd expect from Erwin, either.

There is no bed, just a sturdy pallet with a bedroll at the foot, and a plastic table with two chairs. A steamer trunk holds practical belongings like clothes, sanitary articles and a lot of empty space. The cabin is so clearly arranged that Levi actually wonders where to search.

If there wasn't the specific scent he connects to Erwin, this could be anyone's home. No posters on the walls, the cleanliness seems to originate from little use rather than efforts to keep it tidy, and Levi has to dig through folded sets of spare clothes until he finds a small pile of books, the first 'articles of luxury'.

Not even anything entertaining. One of them is about making fertilizers from kitchen waste, mostly using foods Levi has never heard about. He turns them and shakes the pages, hoping something will fall out.

No luck. Those books are as boring as they are empty.

The only one that doesn't have a specific topic is, to Levi's surprise, a yearbook from a middleschool. The once high quality cover is faded, its back broken, dog-eared pages have carefully been smoothed again. Now curious, Levi flips through it, wondering what Erwin might find interesting about it.

It seems as fictional as a novel to him: those young, carefree faces, smiling from photos, posing with sports equipment and medals for outstanding achievements – like winning a prize for an essay about nuclear energy or American poetry. Levi frowns and thumbs to the place where the back has been broken.

The class picture of the graduating year. Some faces are sloppily circled with a pencil, then gently erased again. The eraser has damaged the photo, making it even harder to discern the children.

So maybe Erwin does like to daydream about the old times. Seems strange for someone like him, but it doesn't tell Levi anything about the holotapes, so he shuts the book.

The pencil has scribbled over the last page again, sometimes pressing down so hard that the paper got torn. The letters are angry and jerky, and they don't seem to be 200 years old, so Levi flips the back cover open again.

_I AM 75_

Congratulations, quite an age. Not helpful, though. Levi puts the books back and goes back to searching.

There is a bit of stuff tucked behind the steamer trunk, hidden between it and the wall: an old record in faded yellow and blue, “Kokomo”. Levi stares at it for a moment and briefly entertains the idea that if he had turned down that drinking game, Erwin might never have gotten suspicious. He's lying to himself there, he knows, and yet he finds himself momentarily drawn to the illusion.

No time to waste on sentimentality, though. Levi carefully slips the record back and looks around, checking the bedroll, feeling under the table plate and the chairs. He's been though all the obvious hideouts, and there aren't many more places you could hide anything, even something as small as holotapes.

However, Erwin is quite tall; taller than the average. People like him tend to subconsciously think that if they hide something above their own eye-level, everyone else won't even get close.

The old overhead compartments have been unscrewed and removed, and somebody has bothered with filling the holes with a bit of stuffing. It's so far up that Levi will have to drag a chair over and stand on it, but once he's up there, he's willing to bet that two of the filled holes contain screws and a deposit behind it. After briefly checking the door again, he pulls out his screwdriver from his boot and sets to work.

And he's not wrong. Erwin has his head in the clouds, one way or another.

Dearly hoping that this cache doesn't contain personal objects _again_ , Levi tugs the bit of stuffing out and then unscrews the metal plate: between the casing and the shell of the cabin, there should be just enough space for things that are flat and no bigger than the palm of his hand.

With quick, quiet movements, Levi pries the metal plate away to uncover what Erwin indeed wants to keep hidden.

If only it were that easy. But here they are – holotapes, neatly tucked into the gap of the casing.

There are six of them, five in the general light orange that the one Erwin has played for Levi to hear has had, too; and one that's blue and worn. Judging by the small number, there must be other stashes, but getting greedy now might be foolish; and it's well possible that the rest of them aren't in this cabin. For now, Levi collects all of them and stuffs them into his pocket, wondering whether he can get back in here without Erwin noticing-

Steps approach over the dirt path leading here: heavy boots that scrunch over pebbles. While that doesn't necessarily mean someone's headed here, Levi's instinct clearly tells him exactly that is the case.

This is the worst of luck.

His fingers are still steady as he closes the plate again and tightens the screws just enough so he can press the stuffing in; it might fall out again, but it doesn't matter – the steps are close now, not fast, yet with very little time. Levi climbs from the chair and puts it back, then flips the bar at the door as quietly as he can; there's no way to leave without being seen.

Not that he has done anything particularly wrong, he could still play it off, and if Erwin doesn't buy it, it doesn't matter, those recordings are, indirectly, Levi's.

And despite that, he's very sure he wants to keep this a secret.

Having said that, there's almost nowhere to hide, even for someone as short and flexible as Levi: the only possible structure is under the pallet, the most obvious place. Levi grits his teeth, then the steps stop at the door, the lock creaks – and he just rolls underneath the goddamn thing and presses himself as close to the wall as he can.

It's fucking dusty there. Levi covers his nose with his sleeve before that shit makes him sneeze, mentally noting that if Erwin and he ever speak again, he'll kick his ass for being so filthy, and _should_ they ever share a piece of sleeping furniture again, he'll double check under there-

The door opens with a creak, but steps don't immediately enter – Levi's blood runs cold at the realization that he must have been caught, he hasn't been fast enough to hide under the pallet, how the fuck will he get out of this-

A quiet huff, vaguely amused. “If any other guy holds open the door for me, I know they just wanna stare at my ass. With you, makes me wonder whether you'll try to stab me.”

It's a female voice, smoky and rough. Levi hasn't heard it before.

“What reason would I have for that,” Erwin replies, his tone somewhat smooth and light; Levi would consider it flirtatious.

“What reason indeed,” she replies mockingly.

Hell, are they going to fuck here and now? _Shit._ He really doesn't want to witness that, it's awkward as fuck itself, the whole idea is-... He could have expected it, sure, why else would Erwin bring a woman to his private room, but for some reason, Levi hasn't pictured him as the kind to casually sleep around. Which, naturally, is based on his own experience, so it doesn't say a damn thing about Erwin's actual habits.

“Not this time,” Erwin puts it and closes the door.

The legs of a chair scrape over the floor, and Levi very nearly breaks out in sweat. Did he leave any dirt from his soles on the seat?

“Damn shame about your beard, though. Was a nice bit of change, but I reckon your little gunslinger don't much like it.”

Feet move in Levi's line of vision, heavy boots with iron spikes soldered to the shins. He feels like he's seen them before, and as the wearer spreads on the chair, he catches a glimpse of pants made of boiled leather and bone, no metal that could heat up.

The woman Erwin was talking to. The one from Goodneighbor, presumably; Fahrenheit. She alludes to what she has probably witnessed between Erwin and Levi there, but said man, as usual, doesn't react to remarks about his private life.

The steamer trunk creaks, a lighter snaps a few times before the smell of burning tobacco spreads. Levi dearly hopes that they don't fuck on the pallet, right on top of him. Standing up would be good. And as briefly as they can.

“Did you miss this?” More sounds of something thin and wooden, then cluttering: Levi can't place those, nor can he guess what Erwin means. Aside from the obvious that he doesn't want to know.

“Don't take yourself so seriously, goldilocks. It was just handy to know where you are.”

“You knew anyway.”

A long, hissing exhale of smoke. “You didn't drop by the Old State House, like you normally do. So yeah. Short of a doctor now, so don't get cocky.”

Medics are precious for every settlement; Hanji's departure has to have an impact, and for a moment, Levi wonders whether Fahrenheit's visit is more of a negotiation. But she wouldn't turn to Erwin for that – as odd as the doctor can act, Hanji isn't someone who'd let others decide over their head.

A series of small clicks on wood, then the lighter again. “It's not for me to decide,” Erwin replies with his usual calm, confirming what Levi has assumed, “and as for compensation, we'll find a consensus. Your set?”

“I'll trust your manners,” Fahrenheit scoffs, her voice slightly muffled by the cigarette jammed between her lips. “White. And the same as always.”

Levi waits for the rustle of clothing or the wet smack of skin, but neither comes: it's so quiet that he has to stay perfectly still and control his breathing. Erwin might be a little less on his guard here, but he's perpetually observant, and the woman could be another sort. And if explaining his presence would have been tricky before, right now it would be downright mortifying.

The silence drags on, occasionally interrupted by low clicks and the creaking of a chair when someone shifts their weight. Then, after the tension starts to sow stiffness in his muscles, Fahrenheit huffs in contentment and speaks up again: “I'll take it anyway. Did you ask the doctor to leave with you?”

Although Erwin tends to evade such direct questions, he doesn't seem to play that game with the woman – to Levi's annoyance.

“Yes. I needed her help.” According to Hanji's gender role in Goodneighbor, he refers to Hanji as female.

“Need-to-know?”

“I already answered you.”

At that, Levi tilts his head a little so he can get a glimpse of the cabin: two people sitting at the table, the clicks on wood might come from a board game; he has seen one of those in the steamer trunk.

Seems like a strange form of foreplay. Can't they hurry the fuck up?

As it turns out, no. Several minutes pass before the conversation continues – while Levi can endure hours of motionlessly lying in wait, it's a lot harder when the situation is so trivial. There's nothing to be gained from listening in on this, aside from uncomfortable jabs that Fahrenheit apparently monitors those who visit Goodneighbor. The information she asks for, in turn, mostly concerns places throughout the Commonwealth Levi doesn't care about, routes of traffic and territorial agreements.

“Why did you put a ban on that place?” Erwin asks, his voice thoughtful and softer now.

“The Mayor did. It's death for those who disobey now.” Hot ash hisses as a cigarette is ground out and another is lit.

“Why?”

“I answered, Erwin. If you're curious, take another.”

A definite, short click, and Fahrenheit grunts dryly. “Ass. I lost two men there already. Both came back on time, but Krait had some fancy wire stuck between his ribs; unlike any I've seen, and he didn't even notice until he blacked out from blood poisoning. Would've died like a dog without Carla.” Her voice betrays discomfort, hinting that what happened to the other of those two is even nastier.

Erwin seems to have noticed, too. “And the other?”

“Another piece, or I won't tell you.” As it appears, taking a piece during the board game means answering a question in the broader sense – 'yes' and 'no' doesn't cut it.

Erwin is quiet for a moment, then his tone changes slightly. “I'll offer you something. If you answer my question now, I'll let you promote a pawn of your choice. It will need to reach the eighth rank, but I won't stop it.”

Whatever 'promoting' means in this context, Levi hopes they won't do it on the pallet and get the hell on with it; he can tell Fahrenheit is considering this, so what Erwin offers must be something that could turn the game, possibly even be too good to be true. She's suspicious, and at the same time, she's tempted to turn Erwin's trap against him.

Just as Levi's shoulder starts to cramp and dust tickles his nose, Fahrenheit takes a deep drag. “I'm not gonna tell you which pawn.”

“Fair enough.”

“You'll regret this,” she concludes, which signals her agreement.

Levi still doesn't know what they're getting at: it's safe to think that it has something to do with Project Leviathan, because that's what Erwin seems focused on, and it makes sense that he's careful not to allow someone who's not really allied to him to guess what he's after. But not even Levi has an idea, and it's starting to unnerve him; once again, he's not in on anything.

“Krait and Renn were both part of the Neighborhood Watch, so they were mine. Threw Krait out for disobeying my orders; Renn's dead.” Her heavy boots make a grating noise on the cabin's floor as she drags her feet, a possible second sign of discomfort. If someone as hard-boiled as the head of the Neighborhood Watch is affected, it's bound to be ugly.

“Came back short-tempered and twitchy, his squad blamed it on chems and didn't inform me. Next thing he was muttering shit, left his position on patrol to go wandering through Goodneighbor. Then he grabbed the rocket launcher from the shop and tried to blow up the marketplace.” A short, derisive hiss. “It wasn't loaded, you know. He should have seen that. Shouldn't have been able to lift the damn thing like that, either – it was like his mind was so fucked he didn't realize anything. Or he wanted us to kill him. I don't take people with a death wish, it wasn't like Renn. After he was dead, it turned out he'd hung his daughters by their feet on the graveyard, having the ghouls chew at them.”

Fahrenheit drops a little ash on the ground, and Levi grits his teeth.

“It wasn't like him. That place messes people up. I don't care how, it's different now.”

She seems to expect Erwin to react, but he says nothing: the game continues, by the sound of it, leaving Levi tense and impatient. It seems that Erwin has chosen the next place he wants to investigate: another place where Project Leviathan's research has been conducted, only that this time, it's known to others as well. Judging by experience, it's a drug lab that has suddenly and drastically changed its formulation: humankind might be on its knees, but it's continuously striving for better ways to kill someone and get a kick out of it.

It's quiet for a while, no questions asked. Then Fahrenheit chuckles: It's a sound as coarse and spiky as barbed wire. “You were baiting me,” she remarks, “fixating me on the promotion so you'd get there with your rook while I'm stranded.”

Erwin doesn't deny it, nor is he careless enough to sound smug. “It's not over.”

“It is.” This time, a note of sharpness at him questioning her judgment – then calmer. Nobody likes a sore loser. “I'll miss playing chess with you, I think. Got anyone in compensation for that, too?”

If he's getting the brush-off right now, Erwin is handling it like gentleman: his tone is smooth and polite. Of course it is, he doesn't _ask_ someone to stay. “I'm afraid not.”

“Not even the short one with the toxic eyes?”

“You're welcome to ask him,” Erwin replies with a trace of amusement. “Stop bringing him up.”

Fahrenheit rises slowly, casually flipping a chess piece from the board as her heavy boots move closer to Levi – he can't see her face and not even her posture, but he senses her thoughts, deliberating whether this is something she should even waste her voice on. She's no part of the Junktown, chem labs and personal catastrophes don't concern her, as long as they don't come close to Goodneighbor.

“Damn shame,” Fahrenheit repeats, distant now, like she has come to a conclusion. When it comes down to _use it or lose it_ , she's clearly the type to let go. “See your around the Neighborhood.”

Then she opens the door – Levi hopes Erwin will see her out, maybe take her back to her own temporary quarters, but a woman of authority wouldn't tolerate that streak of patronage, and Erwin is wise not to try. He, too, has gotten up, his feet face the door.

And the chess piece, the king, is mere inches from his heel. If he bends to pick it up now, he will see Levi: that is, unless he's too cautious to let Fahrenheit out of his sight.

“Are you heading back now?” he asks instead, thankfully ignoring the chess piece for now.

“Nah, we'll stay the night and get going around noon. Work and shit.” She huffs dryly. “No need to see me off, and you'll just go. I warned you.”

“I appreciate it.” Polite, though somewhat dismissive: Erwin's usual way with advice he hasn't asked for. Fahrenheit scoffs and her boots disappear from the doorway without another word, only the smoke of cigarettes remains.

It's probably all over Levi's clothes by now. In his skin. He needs to wash, urgently.

What he's witnessed is conspirational and yet phrased in a way that's almost impossible to understand, should someone just overhear – but the warning of that place is indeed clear, as clear as Erwin's rejection to follow good advice. The trickier question is why someone like a settlement guard would know details about a group that's so secretive it can create a synth from a superhuman and have nobody talking about it.

The door clunks shut. Erwin is still standing there, Levi can picture his brooding expression, nearly motionless when he's deep in thought. With the draft from outside cut off again, the dusty, smoke-laced air under the pallet feels thick and stings in Levi's eyes and nose.

He mustn't move. Absolutely not. His heart pounds, both dully and furiously.

It's ridiculous to be on edge now, when it will only be Erwin 'catching' him, not a stranger who might draw her gun on him. But it's worse, it can't happen, and despite that it likely will – if he picks something up, Erwin rather kneels on one leg instead of bending down to take the weight from his left side. His head will be on the perfect level to see a glimpse of a shape under the pallet.

The moment he finds himself hating the idea of being caught, Levi understands why he's been reluctant to seek out Erwin since they've arrived.

The sharp snap of crumbling plastic echoes in the cabin as Erwin crushes the king under his heel and simply exits his shelter, leaving Levi with a ridiculously easy escape and the nasty feeling of having done something minor under a mayor risk.

He waits and listens for an indication that Erwin or someone else might still be around – none – then carefully rolls from under the pallet and gets to his feet. He's itching to clean this mess up, doesn't Erwin get that if the full ashtray stays, this whole place will _reek_ of smoke...

It's not his business, however. And he'd better remember that. The holotapes are stuffed into his pocket, dig into his skin as if to remind him.

 

With the recordings secured, half of the work is done: the other part is to find a gadget that can play them in peace.

While Levi is pretty sure there's plenty of machines around that can play holotapes, most of them belong to Moblit, and he'd get curious if Levi suddenly wanted one – he, who doesn't even own technically advanced stuff.

Nonetheless, the synth is probably the only one possibly in possession of a movable gadget, one that Levi could take somewhere nobody listens in. He just needs to find a way to find out and _borrow_ it.

Might as well, after he's already started down this road. Not like he wants to keep any of the things he's _borrowed_.

When he enters the lab first thing the next morning (meaning, as soon as he's through his personal routine of hygiene), he thinks Moblit looks pleased to see him. It's still difficult with the fact in the back of his mind that Moblit has been created to be a robot, not imitate a human. Does he actually feel?

“Good to see you here, Mr. Levi,” Moblit greets – the 'Mister' is difficult to get out of him, apparently for everybody. “I'm sorry the test yesterday has been a failure.”

Levi expects him to say more, ask him to repeat the test or tell him about findings, if there have been any, but this seems to settle it. Moblit takes a step towards him – as usual, his gaze lingers on the sleeves shoved up Levi's elbows and the rumpled collar of his shirt, like he's itching to correct that – then his lips twitch while the yellow eyes utter a tiny snapping sound.

“Your new gear is ready for a first fitting, if you have the time.”

He has already learned that the term 'improved gear' annoys Levi, because it makes it sound like he's been running around in furs before.

Levi tugs at the subway token on its chain. “And what do you want for that?” Because he won't take handouts, especially not now.

“I thought of something for that, too,” Moblit adds easily while he checks a pile of dark fabric for remaining needles. “There is a group of supermutants around – I expected them to move on, but they're persistent, damaging the outer wall and attacking traders. Not to mention that they're very loud.” Moblit briefly frowns. “They shout that they want to eat everyone here. Including me. It's almost flattering that they consider me edible.”

Levi must have looked skeptic, because Moblit superfluously clears his throat again and continues: “Anyway, I have located their camp. Tell me when you're ready, and we will eliminate them.”

Although going somewhere to kill with a synth-robot-hybrid is something of a more interesting new experience, Levi is by now sensitive to subtext. One – supermutants are huge, green and vicious, and a group of them is brutal work, but even Moblit's cautious mind judges it manageable for the both of them.

Two – Levi would need to stay.

“And if I go with that Petra-squad?” he asks, using the name he's heard from Uri.

Moblit's face is blank, betraying no surprise: either because there truly is none or because the wires that produce his facial expressions are easier to control than human muscles. “All the more reason to try out whether this fits your fighting style.”

Ever diplomatic. Levi grunts and lets it go, takes off his clothes to exchange them for Moblit's _improved_ gear.

The military fiber is cool and a bit coarse, the padding still a little stiff: it feels strange to wear something actually new, made for him. Moblit carefully adjusts the material over the wounds that have mostly healed by now, tugs at seams and the lacing that closes the dark shirt on Levi's side. It's like a second skin in the color of withered bark, easily blending in with rusty surfaces or earth.

“I readjusted your coat,” Moblit puts in as he kneels down to check the flexibility of the material in the back of one knee, “it should be warmer and tougher now, but it's still... yours.”

Levi doesn't ask how much of the original material has been replaced – Moblit seems to have a number, and it would make him grit his teeth. “Thanks.”

They're trading, probably, yet it feels like he should be a little civil. Especially because he might have acted like a fucking hypocrite around a... fellow synth.

Moblit's eyes whir back into uniformity, which is something to be thankful for, too. It's unnerving to see them move autonomously. “I'm not quite done with your gun, but I've reinforced the barrel. If you shove it into an organism again.”

If he's aware of the innuendo, he's got the deadpan down to an art. Levi returns his stare without flinching. “You can bet your ass I will.”

Does he imagine the crinkling of rubber skin around Moblit's eyes? Well, it's likely that nobody usually tells him to bet his mechanical junk.

Now, how to ask him about a cassette player or something... Levi glances around the lab while Moblit studies a seam with more glow in his eyes than usual, scanning for parameters Levi has never paid much attention to.

However, he's only been fighting humans, ghouls and the occasional supermutant so far. Enemies with more technical finesse haven't bothered with him yet, not to speak of synthetic ones.

“Doctor Zoe suggested to treat your scars with special laser technology to soften the tissue,” Moblit says, possibly has been talking before already. “It will increase your flexibility even more, and it might trigger your memories. If you turn back into how Ackerman must have seen himself.”

Functionality, of course. To Moblit, the physical body is the key – Levi hasn't even considered this, and his stomach turns at the thought of fitting an image, a wish. Anger prepares to rise again, but he swallows it; it's not helpful to throw a tantrum anymore, it's just plain ridiculous.

“You ever remember anything from that guy?”

It's meant to distract Moblit so Levi can have a good look at the different machines and sort their unfamiliar shapes, though when the curious stare fixes on him, he finds that he needs to elaborate. “The guy who had your body before.”

“Ah.” It's a sound of understanding, but it doesn't come across like that. Moblit smooths over a crease in the padding protecting the kidneys, although his eyes don't follow the seam anymore. “No, the data storage has been wiped thoroughly. It seems to be easier than destroying the body.”

“But you're no longer a robot.” At least Moblit seems to no longer feel like one: his taste in proper clothing, his fascination with the symbiosis of biology and technology, his independent learning – those aren't robotic traits, as a robot's doing has to be controllable.

For a moment, Moblit seems to find it hard to meet Levi's gaze. When he does, though, it's more defiant than self-conscious.

“No. Unlike you, I can't be human, however. I cannot pretend.”

The metal fingers with their cables and wires seem to tense, even when that's impossible. Just like it's impossible to mistake Moblit for a human man. He's a hybrid, but that brings him too close to the last step, the last _race_ that he can't adapt – and so far it hasn't appeared like it bothers him.

But it could. Try as you might, everybody wants to be human these days, even Uri, and it seems, even Moblit, who hasn't been created for that. Their bodies aren't able to deceive for that purpose, only Levi has the choice.

Third generation, absolute perfection of imitation. He can be human, synth and even the Leviathan.

Levi simply nods. There is nothing he can say, absolutely nothing. And after a few long seconds, Moblit accepts it with a nod of his own and continues his inspection. If something Levi has said did hurt him, he doesn't let it show.

Uri has praised his ability to apologize, and still Levi finds that he can't.

“Some days, I'd like to be human. Some days, I prefer this a lot. Flex your shoulders now, please?”

Levi does it, noting that there is a trace of that tinny note that implicates Moblit's trouble with something. He huffs and bends his knees, knowing the sequence of movement that Moblit and Hanji run their tests with by now.

“So what's your weapon? Lasers?”

Moblit's lips twitch slightly, just a little pleased. “Plasma guns, to be more precise. I'd like to implement that type of ammunition for your arsenal, too.”

Guns that can practically melt through steel with two shots? Levi shrugs, putting an effort into appearing only mildly interested when yes, he _could_ do with a bit of fancy shit himself. “Whatever.”

Someone knocks against the lab door before opening it – Hanji is considerate enough to make themselves known before entering, but not patient enough to actually wait for permission. They glance around, smirking knowingly when they catch sight of Levi.

“Looking sharp, short stuff. Clothes make the man, eh?”

It only feels consequent to flip them off for that, though Levi is provoked to not change immediately back into his normal attire, like he's originally planned. “How about changing yours, sawbones?”

Hanji merely pats their lab coat, as if the stains could be removed by that alone. “They just get filthy again, what's the big idea. Besides, I'd _really_ love to saw your bones, I promise you won't miss a leg.”

The problem is that Levi can't even be entirely sure they don't truly dream of cutting him up. It's still a nasty thought, but he's getting used to it, slowly; he knows that while Hanji might make remarks like that, he could always stop them. Ackerman couldn't.

“Doctor.” Moblit's smile is a bit smoother now, hinting to Levi that this is what makes him want to be 'more human'. More of an equal, maybe. “Do you think you could advance the treatment of Mr. Levi's scars? It would help me with the fitting.”

Hanji takes their glasses off to wipe them with the elbow of their sleeve, where the cloth is only moderately filthy – still enough to make Levi want to rip it off – and hums in agreement, eyes already wandering again. “Could do that. As soon as I've hunted down Erwin, because I'm really out of fusion cores now. Thought he'd be here, actually.”

Their gaze fixates on Levi, openly expectant: despite the fact that Moblit runs the Junktown and usually knows where people go. For some reason, they seem to think that Levi would know even better.

Why the hell _would_ he? He has his pride, after all.

“He went out,” Moblit answers dutifully. “I assumed he's taking a walk; he hasn't been here for supplies, at least.”

“ _Out_ ,” Hanji echoes as they slip their glasses back on. “Must have been early. Since when?”

Moblit reluctantly releases Levi's new gear from his attention to walk to his terminal and start typing: he could merely be playing, but he does seem uncomfortable with poking through people's habits.

If it wasn't Hanji, he might refuse.

“The sensors lost track of his identification tag four hours ago,” he finally says. “I have expanded their reach since the last attack, so-”

“So it's closer to five hours.” Hanji is frowning now, the crease between their brows is so deep that Levi can't tell whether it's disapproval or already worry. “That's not a walk. Where the hell is he off to?”

So far, Hanji didn't seem too concerned for Erwin's personal endeavors – if anything, they trusted him to look after himself. Why this has changed, Levi can only guess, but he can sense that the doctor is starting to feel alarmed bit by bit.

“He was with that woman from Goodneighbor,” he suggests gruffly, judging that this is something anyone could have witnessed from a normal position, not... cowering under a pallet like an idiot hiding from his lover's spouse. “Seemed to discuss something.”

There is no knowing wink this time, only a terse nod from Hanji as they scratch under an earpiece. “That helps. I'd have preferred not talking to her, but there's that.” They sigh and tug at a strand of brown hair, then glance questioningly at Levi. “Coming along? It's easier to deal with those mercenaries if I don't go alone.”

Remembering what Hanji has said about their previous role in that settlement, it might be true; or they just feel vulnerable.

Moblit has already taken Levi's coat from a rack behind his workbench, handing it to him with a neutral expression. It's heavier and a bit stiffer than before and it smells of resin and something like pitch – if that doesn't wear off soon, he's refusing to wear that stink.

He's unarmed for now, but Hanji doesn't seem to expect him to get a gun; their fingers close around his upper arm as they turn their head, and for a moment, Levi can see the the artery on their neck beating quickly, the hair sticking to their temples.

What he can't tell is the exact cause of Hanji's tension – because it's probably not a nasty talk with former employers when you're in a settlement that mobilizes turrets for your protection.

So Levi limits himself to what the doctor wants for now: be quiet and glare, like a good honor guard, and keep his thoughts to himself.

Once outside, it's not difficult to find the group from Goodneighbor – as Fahrenheit said, they are planning to leave around noon, so they're still preparing their departure. With their pack animals half-loaded up and not the full group assembled, it's the best time to seek dialogue with medium threat level. When he sees the flash of red hair, Levi suppresses an irritating tinge of embarrassment; he didn't even _want_ to overhear, fuck them.

Fahrenheit straightens as Hanji steps into her line of sight, slowly, a cigarette glowing softly in the corner of her mouth despite the containers of flamer fuel strapped to her thighs. Levi eyes the massive flamethrower casually pointing at them, then crosses his arms once he's recognized that the safety is on.

“Doctor.” Fahrenheit acknowledges Hanji with a nod and Levi with a curious glance. Although she has mentioned him, he can't see a spark of recognition in her eyes.

“Do you know where Erwin went?” Hanji doesn't seem patient enough to waste time on chitchat, but that approach is blunt even in Levi's ears, who favors direct speech.

Again, nothing in Fahrenheit's face betrays that she must know – she simply shrugs and scratches one of the old burn scars on her bare arm. She could be putting up with this conversation merely for the sake of manners towards the former doctor of her settlement, or just for the fun of making Hanji so uncomfortable.

Levi grits his teeth, his patience runs thin just witnessing this. “How much?”

Since Hanji has already made it clear that this is important, he might as well cut to the chase and enter the haggling; it shouldn't be hard to buy that information, not with Moblit's whole stash of fancy shit and Hanji playing the twitchy girl.

He only hopes they're just playing. Something about them seems genuinely stressed, and like hell is that a bad conscience for leaving patients alone – the whole damn Wasteland is a waiting room.

Fahrenheit flips the subway token over the back of her hand, lips quirking slightly. “Not quite. Answers for answers.”

Judging by the questions she has asked Erwin, Levi can't fathom what she'd want to hear now: Erwin is good at finding Gunner hideouts and guess supply routes, but that's not something Hanji seems equally interested in.

Then again, she's clearly speaking in plural.

Hanji catches on the fraction of a second before Levi, and the irritation makes the melodious accent tinge her voice no warmer. “This doesn't concern him, so don't demand anything from him.”

“It's that or no deal,” Fahrenheit replies with a sudden coldness that makes her entourage turn their heads, hands moving to their guns. Nobody is stupid enough to actually draw, but the gesture itself suggests men who can hold a grudge.

If Levi can't think of anything Fahrenheit would want to know from Hanji, he's completely lost why she'd show interest in him: he hasn't done anything in Goodneighbor to catch her attention, safe for fucking her business partner. And he's got a feeling that she's not the type of woman to waste an opportunity on asking how it's been.

Curious despite himself, Levi cocks his head. “Make it quick.”

He purposefully doesn't look at Hanji to avoid the impression that they're arranging terms: the more independent they seem, the less pressure Fahrenheit can apply to force someone to elaborate. Going by the tension from the doctor, they're less than happy anyway.

“What's your name?”

It's a question. And Fahrenheit seems entirely aware of it, her lips are still curled although her eyes don't smile. For all intents and purposes, this seems to be the question she wants to ask Levi, and even when he can't make sense of it, it seems a small price to pay.

“Levi.”

She nods, confirming that he has paid his part of the price – for whatever reason. Levi casts a glance at Hanji, but if they can figure out why his name would play a role, they don't show it. They simply await their question, quiet and pale like someone prepared to bear the worst.

Fahrenheit flips the token again, narrow eyes turn into dark slits. “You left us,” she remarks. “Fair enough, the Mayor doesn't keep prisoners. But the rumors stay.” Fahrenheit's men now watch Hanji rather than their boss, and the wariness in their expressions doesn't go unnoticed by Levi.

He doesn't know a lot about medical science and understands even less, but he, too, has realized that Hanji's skill is above average: it's damn good, possibly even genius. Someone like that could find a place in any wealthy settlement, they would be offered perks of all kinds, and a town with a crime rate like Goodneighbor needs a good doctor. It was to be expected that Fahrenheit would come here to persuade Hanji to return, offer them new benefits for their service.

But there hasn't been a word of that, neither to Erwin nor to Hanji, who apparently has avoided this encounter, and Fahrenheit hasn't pursued it.

Why would Hanji stay in that filthy town in the first place when the Junktown is technically a lot more advanced? And what could be so grave that the Mayor is no longer convinced that Goodneighbor needs the doctor?

Hanji doesn't move and awaits the question. Their stillness is almost unnatural.

“They say you can wake the dead,” Fahrenheit finally says. “Is that why you left?”

Again, it seems like a superficial question, but it takes several seconds until Hanji answers, their voice dry and tense. “No. I was sick of that place, that's all.”

_Wake the dead_ .

What Hanji did for Moblit might surely be called that, but that wouldn't make the scum of Goodneighbor flinch. The uneasy feeling wells up again at the lack of surprise in Fahrenheit's face, the silent disgust as they flick their cigarette.

“Levi then,” she begins, looking at him again as if he has transformed into someone else, now that she knows his name. “You answered first. Good thing my boys have business to finish, but they'll be done in a day.”

“Con-fucking-gratulations,” Levi snarls, sensing more in that casual statement than the information she has promised, and it immediately angers him.

Fahrenheit lights a new cigarette, never taking her eyes off him as if to memorize his face, everything about him. A part of that is more unsettling than Moblit's scans.

It's a stare that tells Levi that jealousy has never played a part for her, that there possibly hasn't even been anything in that direction. Her interest in him isn't personal: it is, like almost everything these days, the struggle for survival.

“The Gunners have placed a murderous bounty on your head, Levi. Someone out there is very, very pissed. As for Erwin,” she continues before Hanji's hissed curse can transform into words, “I warned him that he wouldn't survive.”

Fahrenheit blows out smoke, it leaks out between her teeth like toxic syrup and harshness.

“The Combat Zone. New, improved, fucking deadly.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is still with it - thank you a lot!  
> I haven't given up, I'm just very slow. But reviews do fuel me, especially since I know the story drags.  
> Next and last part, everybody's nasty secrets.
> 
> More or less a fun fact: Fahrenheit is the one who gives the player the Ashmaker - it's a minigun that sets opponents on fire.  
> And ACWNR-attire for Levi.


	3. Part Three

There is only a moment of silence before Levi knows that he has to be the one to take control of the situation.

A bounty on his head, offered by the Gunners. That's more than caps someone could make with his death: it's a commendatory present for anyone wishing to get on their good side, as well as a trophy for killing someone who has pissed them off enough that they actually acknowledged they want him taken out.

People with that kind of bounty usually don't make it long.

And then there's that hellhole that a synthetic copy was thrown in and Levi came out. The last place he'd ever want to see again, which is exactly why he's made sure to destroy it.

“Have a good travel.”

Levi summons an almost polite nod towards Fahrenheit, keenly aware that she and her pack are watching – and the calmer he appears, the more likely some of those fuckers will wonder whether he might be out of their league.

Fahrenheit nods back, lips slightly curved. Appraising him. “If you make it till a few months, you're welcome to drop by the Old State House.”

_If_ he survives that long, the worst of the Gunner's ire might have died down, enough to even out the risk of protecting someone who's on their shit list, but obviously a tough sucker to kill. He'd still end up in life-long dept full of dirty work, too bad for him.

Hanji is pale and quiet, holding it together well – only that it's not enough, they can't appear surprised, either. Levi roughly grabs their arm and flashes his teeth in Fahrenheit's direction: he has to be a good sportsman about this, act like the situation isn't new to him.

Although it is. Nobody has ever placed a bounty on his head: nobody has known him well enough, neither his face (he should have made sure to kill the Gunner who has seen him) nor his name (he should have known Fahrenheit wasn't asking out of sentimentality).

What's done is done, though.

Hanji follows his pull mechanically, then seems to remember moving their legs. Levi stirs them into the direction of the laboratory again, guessing that they want to tell Moblit somewhere moderately private.

“Is this bad?”

For the first time, Hanji sounds almost timid. Their eyes are wide and dry, reeling from shock and trying to get their thoughts back in order – Levi knows the feeling.

And he knows the Combat Zone from before, as well as the place Fahrenheit has described to Erwin – the place that makes men forget wire stuck in their flesh and murder their family.

“Yeah.”

Hanji exhales sharply and nods jerkily; the judgment of people they deem sensible is usable to them. Levi lets go of their arm, but they grab his in turn, fingers digging into the crook of his elbow.

“Why?” Hanji asks with bewilderment that's nearly comical, and Levi has no idea what they mean – why did Erwin leave on his own, why the Combat Zone, why the bounty-

All of those questions are relatively meaningless. Levi realizes that a part of him is relieved to concentrate on threats he's familiar with: people trying to kill him, things that go missing and need to be found. He can deal with that, and it's a lot more like him than mulling over his origins.

Wordlessly, he shoves Hanji down the stairs and into the lab, where Moblit still waits, the rubber-skin of his face even appears paler than usual – even though that's impossible. “Doctor?”

The careful tone snaps Hanji back into reality, and they let go of Levi to throw their hands up in sudden, flashing anger. “Can you believe that airhead with his blind actionism?! Now  _this_ is aimless, and that bounty...” They pause and lower their hands: Moblit doesn't look like he understands, and how could he, but he knows it's serious, his eyes move from Hanji to Levi and back again.

Hanji closes their mouth, teeth clack audibly with force. “I can't use the power armor,” they say, mostly to themselves, “but I can catch up. I don't think Erwin expects anyone to tail him, and with his leg currently strained...”

While Levi isn't the reassuring type, he can't pretend he hasn't heard something obviously wrong; his low scoff makes Hanji glance at him, face tense and hard, challenging him to correct them. So he will.

“Bullshit. He did that behind your back for a reason, and his leg's fine.” Having been around Erwin for a while, even under the influence of fatigue or pain, Levi can read his body language by now.

“He said it bother-...” Hanji briefly closes their eyes, the mumbled curse contains too many vocals to even hear it clearly. “He played act. And I fell for it.”

Not needing to confirm the obvious, Levi takes the Deathclaw dagger from the workbench where Moblit must have refined it; the synth is even too focused on Hanji to notice it.  _The human part._ His eyes zoom in and out as he makes sense of what the doctor tells him, and Levi sees his hands open and close, like he means to take those words or stop Hanji's pacing.

The grip is alright. Levi slips the dagger into his belt, the sheath is a little tight but that will loosen over time.

“Is that a relevant place?” Moblit asks, sounding politely interested though that doesn't necessary mean it's also what he feels.

“It's the only place connected to Levi,” Hanji replies with some irritation. “I don't have a bloody guess what he thinks he'll find there, though. Even I know it's been destroyed, and where they've built the new one...”

“On the ruins of the old one,” Levi is almost surprised at the calm cold in his own voice, then realizes he's indeed sure of this. “It's in the borderlands of at least four different territories, no man's land.”

That, and although Erwin can presumably take supplies without Moblit noticing, a long travel would demand better preparations; and it doesn't seem like those have been done. Levi remembers the other's face yesterday as briefly as he can, but Erwin seemed uncharacteristically... forceful, slightly anxious. Not a man who's already made up his mind.

“How do you know?”

Hanji seems genuinely surprised, though they might be a good actor – Levi isn't willing to assume yet that Erwin really hasn't told anyone details of what's known about Levi's past. And he can't admit that he's been eavesdropping: with Erwin gone, it suddenly seems mandatory to keep the stolen holotapes a secret.

So he fixes Hanji with an icy stare that's been known to shut people up since a while.

“Christ on a Vertibird,” they snort, but Levi senses their agitation that digs deeper into them as their thoughts process; however, it's harder to tell whether it's concern for a friend or a breach of security that's getting to them.

“I'll go get him.”

Hanji wipes their sweaty fingers on their spotty coat, eyes already roving again. “Sorry, Moblit, I'll interrupt the tests – please see to it that the lab is thoroughly cleaned, no traces of Mr. A's DNA. Not like anyone would let us work in peace when Levi is fair game right now.”

Moblit nods mechanically, yet Levi doesn't need to read  _him_ closely to see his shock: even without a pulse to see or sweat dotting the skin, it's obvious. Moblit seems to be a terrible liar when it concerns people around him, and Levi makes a mental note on that. “I need to propose that you don't do this, Doctor... Personally, I mean.”

Hanji has already moved to the cupboards, rummaging through an assortment of unlabeled fluids that only they seem to know; they glance at Moblit over their shoulders, their lips hardly move and their expression is hectic, but clear. “I can't send anyone, even if I had the authority. There's no one close enough, nor is there an actual reason – Erwin is a free man.”

And even Fahrenheit has shuddered at what she knew about the New Combat Zone, so it's not even likely anyone will volunteer. Levi considers bringing that up when Moblit's gaze darts to him, glowing orange and bright. Almost pleading, if that expression had been implemented into his damaged face.

Casually, Levi inspects one of the smaller screwdrivers on the workbench. It's always good to have one, even with a new, better dagger.

Moblit wants to ask him. It's not reasonable, but there's no one else capable.

“I can come with you,” the synth offers, voice tinny.

Hanji struggles out of their lab coat and pulls up their sleeves, though his words make them pause. They're too hurried to smile, but their eyes become softer, less like shards of brown glass, more like melting chocolate.

“You need to stay here, Mo. The Junktown can't be defended without you, and we'd lose the base. You know... The haven, Uri says.”

Moblit nods, acknowledging the reason in that argument. Reason is everything.  _Reason_ is the reason he can't ask Levi.

“You don't even know where to look, shit-doctor. Can you at least keep up without your fancy armor?”

Levi consciously stares past Moblit's silent plea into Hanji's angry frown, not wanting to drag any emotions in.

At least he'll get to move. He's been cooped up in here way too long, it's been making him weak in all the wrong ways.

“I'm not asking you to stay here, obviously, but you can't come with me – for heaven's sake, you _burned that place down_. They'll shoot you on sight.” Hanji waves a thin knife before strapping it to their lower arm, fumbling with the clasps until Moblit hurries to help them. His fingers don't tremble, that useless function isn't implemented, of course.

_Hope is the worst of all evils._

Levi eyes the doctor dispassionately – he doesn't have to persuade them, since he doesn't need their approval. But in a way that's probably due to too much time alone with his thoughts and Uri's ramblings, he can tell how frail they are. There's always fear beneath the anger, and it can seep into everything. This room reeks of it now, since Erwin has torn away a pillar of stability and hasn't given a damn thought about it, and that's unlike him.

Levi doesn't have to hold it up, but there's no one else around to do it, at least until he has kicked Erwin's ass back into responsibility. Brainless thug who's scared of his own words.

Levi swallows his own anger, sensing other feelings beneath it, and chooses one of the screwdrivers that fits nicely into his palm. “Fluctuation there's big, as you can imagine,” he replies, suppresses the wave of repulsion to even remember. “I can blend in, I know the rules.” He catches Hanji's flitting gaze and holds it, piercing silvery eyes with small irises that people duck away under. “You won't make it anywhere without me, doc.”

Hanji opens their mouth to object – obviously – then closes it quietly. Their lips curl into a strange expression of the exhilarated grin that occasionally shows glimpses of the person behind, the endless enthusiasm, the fascination with life itself. The person Hanji must have been, maybe still is.

“Fine. Levi, get your gun.”

They snicker (hinting that it must have been a joke), a sound that's so unexpected Moblit shoots them a worried glance, perhaps wondering whether they're going hysterical now – then it ends as abruptly as it started, and Hanji's face returns to sobriety so suddenly their facial muscles ought to creak. “I'll get supplies and some extras, I'll meet you here in five minutes.”

They pull their sleeves down again and rush out of the lab, their mind visibly ahead of them: there's no trace of the flash of vulnerable insecurity, which calms Levi. He can't make do with someone who might lose their nerve, and if the New Combat Zone is even worse than the old one, he'll need Hanji to watch their own back. With any luck, his reputation is gone, though that will also mean people won't keep their distance out of experience.

“Mr. Levi?”

Moblit regards him neutrally, motionlessly. His eyes no longer zoom in and out, and despite the fact that he's the one who manages the Junktown and therefore the armory, he hasn't moved yet to get weapons. He appears like he doesn't even remember that this is his job.

“I know I've proposed something else,” the synth starts when he's gotten Levi's attention, “but... I will give you anything you want from my fund if you bring the doctor back here safely.”

His voice hasn't dropped back into tinniness, and still he's never sounded quite so robotic. Moblit thinks he cannot become human, but it's a joke – one that he himself probably doesn't get, or not yet.

What Levi understands, though, is the necessity to agree: Moblit needs to have the impression of being able to do something, even if Levi has been planning to watch over Hanji's ass anyway; it's no promise, that'd be idiotic, but he'll try to make them survive.

At least Moblit keeps his professionalism, despite the personal request. Levi returns his bright stare and tries to overlook the naked hope there, trust that he's powerful enough to do this. “Deal.”

Moblit nods, doesn't exhale in relief. Of course not. “I'll get your... modified shotgun. Since it's not quite finished, I'll take a few minutes to make sure there are no construction errors. I will meet you and the doctor here.”

He disappears into the basement at that, focused on his task to keep the thoughts away: that's more human than anything. Levi runs his hand over the short hair on the back of his head and closes his dry eyes for a moment. The gear Moblit has made for him feels unfamiliar, but it has taken up his body warmth and creaks softly.

“He's not cold-hearted. Please don't think that.”

Levi barely manages not to flinch at the voice, at  _someone_ who has simply escaped his notice, and apparently everyone else's, too. For how fucking long has Uri just been there without anyone spotting him?!

“ _What the hell_ , old man.”

Uri smiles innocently at him from his seat in the corner, next to a remodeled refrigerator; though that expression quickly fades. “I'm sorry. I only wanted to explain why Moblit hasn't asked you to bring Erwin back as well.”

Levi absolutely isn't in the mood for one of Uri's stupid “guess my intention”-games – he grunts and crosses his arms, regarding the other with an utter lack of patience. “Because he's the whole fucking reason we're moving out, yeah.”

Uri smiles warmly, if a little patronizing, it seems. “Emotions aren't always based on reasons, yes? You're not going to let dear Hanji get hurt anyway, if you can prevent it. But Moblit,” he nods towards the closed door to the basement, where said synth is probably messing with instruments at a speed and precision that's nearly unparalleled, “he always has to fight his subroutines of caution and rationality. They tell him that Erwin is, with too high probability at least, beyond help, and that demanding protection for more than one person will turn you, a Wasteland survivor, uncooperative. So he settles for the achievable. It takes time to override those beliefs built into him, and under so much stress, there's not enough room for that.”

Levi takes a step towards him, studying his wrinkled face, his black, soft eyes.

Reading Moblit is possible, even when not all of his facial sensors work and sometimes get suppressed. But Uri is a mystery, on too many levels to be comfortable, and every time Levi tries to read him, it feels like he's being read instead.

“Why did you sneak in here like this?”

Uri gets up, in his usual, slow way of a man who  _feels_ old, whether his body shows it or not. He has stopped smiling, but his face is gentle nonetheless.

“I wanted to ask you for a deal, too.”

Which he has always politely declined, so Levi immediately is on alert, watching him carefully, waiting for Uri's request. It comes, without ceremony or secrecy.

“I want you to bring Erwin back. Unharmed... is too much to ask, I'm afraid. But alive.”

The old fool has done it again – he has taken Levi aback. After this whole sermon, after his subtle suggestions that Levi ought to stay away from Erwin and the whole Project stuff if he can make his choice; it hasn't even seemed that Uri likes Erwin a lot, considers him one of his “children”, or worries for him.

Levi isn't even interested in the trade-off. “Why?”

Uri smiles again. This time, however, it's not as kind or warm. It's almost grim. “I know how people die these days. I know Erwin will die without you. He can't say sorry, but he atones for what he's done by sharing pain. That's why he limps, or why he's out there now. But...”

The smile turns wider, just a little rueful and crooked, the way Uri typically smiles. The depth of his stare unsettles Levi: like it's enveloping him, both chary and overwhelming.

“Maybe I can't... accept that easy way out. I'm sorry my reasons are so selfish, Levi. I wouldn't try to ask if there was anyone else.” He steps closer, meeting Levi halfway: he can move very quietly if he wants to, and although his hand is frail and small, it feels like a heavy impact when he carefully places it on Levi's shoulder.

“People will always rely on you. You are hope.”

He lightly squeezes Levi's shoulder through the armored fiber, then he leaves as silently as he must have come.

Levi means to go back to the steel cabin, fetch what little equipment he might need – but he doesn't move, simply stands there. His mind is strangely tranquil at that, the first moment of true peace in a long, long while.

_The worst of all evils._

But they place their hopes in him, and it's heavy, but it's not just a burden.

 

If Hanji knows what bargains have happened in their absence, they pay no mind to them – they return dressed in a plain leather coat with rough jeans, a sweater and high, rugged boots, matching Levi's common attire of a Wasteland scavenger. It's probably made of Moblit's special fiber, too, but it's unremarkable enough to pass for a civilian's dress.

In the old Combat Zone, someone like that would have been considered merely a paying customer, dropping by to place bets and drink. Levi isn't sure what the usual audience looks like now.

Hanji notices him eyeing them and tugs at a fistful of their brown hair. “Want me to get rid of that?”

The old Combat Zone hasn't made distinctions between male and female spectators, as long as they're paying. Though Levi doesn't know whether things have changed, he's got a gut-feeling that Hanji's usual camouflage won't be enough either way: even under their brisk attitude, they're too young and pretty, and cutting off hair won't do much.

If that part is still the same, jamming a few fingers will take care of that kind of attention, anyway. Levi waves the offer aside and inspects the shotgun Moblit has given him: a normal weapon by the looks of it, which is imperative if you don't want to draw greedy eyes on you. It's still the general, two-barreled thing with a wooden grip and a currently empty holster where a bayonet can be fitted.

“Here,” Moblit's steely fingers snap the barrels back as if to load them, then turns what Levi has expected to be merely a fortification, but instead small iron claws open before the barrel, like the fingers of a crane, “if you run out of ammunition or want to fire something else, shove it into these pincers. They will drag it into the barrel, compress it and use it as a projectile. You can manipulate the power of the shot here on the grip, though... please be careful not to overload, I haven't finished the tests. That's why I can't activate the plasma magazine yet either, the barrels aren't heat-resistant enough. I'm sorry.”

Levi fastens the ammo belt and rolls his eyes at the apology. “I've survived worse.” And with less refined equipment.

Hanji grins as they pull their gloves on, though they're still pale with tension. “There's a reason they called those robots 'Mr. Nanny'. No offense, Moblit.”

“Of course not.” Moblit doesn't seem insulted, but that's only an impression, and Levi turns away before he can go too deeply into thought. He needs to concentrate on what's ahead of him – oddly, Uri's prediction feels true, despite the fact that he can't be psychic. There's always talk of people who _see_ things under the influence of chems, junkies who are convinced they're not simply indulging an addiction and instead do something valuable, but Uri doesn't seem one of them.

_I know Erwin will die without you._

And does Erwin know that?

Hanji has spread a small assortment of headwear on the examination table that can disguise Levi's face, both for people who remember him as a cage fighter and those who might be interested in the bounty. Though Levi has already rejected the idea of covering his eyes – goggles and gas masks will always cut off a part of his periphery, and he knows it's crucially important to see in those cramped quarters. His senses are his strength: he can't afford to weaken them.

Hanji picks up a bandana – ironically, adorned with stars and stripes and some dark spots Levi doesn't want to see up close – and fixes him with a pointed stare. “Christ, at least cover your lower face. Some of the stuff I've packed contains irritant gas, and I'd feel a lot better if I knew you can breathe through cloth.”

“That thing is filthy.”

“It's authentic!”

“Whatever. I'm not fucking wearing it.” Having that dirty rag right on his mouth and nose will make him gag with every breath, and he'll have the stench of the arena up his nostrils anyway, so what does it count if it's filtered?

Moblit has begun to methodically search for the cleanest piece while Hanji still stares at Levi in impatient frustration, then presents his choice with a quiet whir of his better eye. “This one might do?”

It's another dark-green bandana, although Moblit has unfolded and smoothed it, so it's just a triangle bit of worn cloth – one with sloppy white lines representing a mouth that's been sewn shut.

Levi won't ask why there is a Gunner accessory in Moblit's fund: for some reason, this one looks very much like it used to belong to one of their pack.

“If the Gunners search for you, posing as one of them might buy you a little time,” the hybrid suggests. “It's clean... Relatively. I can brush the dried mud down.”

While Levi considers allowing that, Hanji seems less satisfied with the proposal. “Don't misunderstand me on this, but that still doesn't cover your eyes, and they're rather... peculiar.”

“So's my height,” he interjects briskly before they even consider making him wear platform-soled shoes – that shit is probably lying around somewhere in this dump, and he's not going to wait until Moblit remembers where. “I can psycho-paint my face, that'll do. Enough raiders come to brag with shit they took from corpses.”

If you smear the black, thick mixture of soot, grease and coal around your eyes and cheeks, you claim to be a murderer for pleasure, something that despite his brutal nature, Levi has never been. But it's a camouflage that might hide his identity so he can focus on the more serious dangers, and then a bit of dirt on his face doesn't matter.

Hanji doesn't look satisfied, but by now, they know the tone of Levi's voice when there's no room for discussion anymore, having prodded that point in the past days over and over. And they're wasting time standing around, time that they won't be able to catch up – Levi is positive he could on his own, but he's with a civilian, and despite his own words, they don't know the exact location of the New Combat Zone.

Huffing in defeat, Hanji shoves their hair under a trilby and readjusts their goggles, which have replaced the glasses again. “How long will we be on the road?”

Levi has already started digging through the bundle they put on the examination table for him, throwing out stuff he deems useless baggage – wound salve, flashbangs, what does he need that for – and calculates how far he can push the doctor. They don't seem above using chems for stamina and vigilance, but everyone else without resistance is prone to addiction, and if they make it out of there alive, it'll bite them in the ass.

“Two days and a half, minimum.”

Assuming that Hanji has sufficient stamina even without a full armor and doesn't slow him down in a fight. It already sounds pesky, so Levi adds pointedly: “You don't have to come.”

“I do.” Hanji's voice is tight, and when he looks at the doctor, they're fixing a point behind him that's nowhere in this room, presumably nowhere in the settlement, either. Levi almost wants to ask where, then shuts the question out: Hanji and he have not spoken about anything personal, not ever, and this is no moment to begin.

Besides, the doctor is well-trained – they don't linger longer than they need to. Their gaze snaps back to reality and to Moblit, who's watching them with that restless expression, like he'd love to be told what to do.

“I noted some things down about the deactivated synth. Left them on your desk, along with my hypothesis. Don't wait for Eld, open the can as soon as you have time.”

Levi has gotten so used to being their main subject of experimentation that he's forgotten about the fallen synth Hanji has dragged back here: the one they think he influenced, in whichever way. He's not happy to be reminded on it, and at the same time oddly glad to be gone when Moblit dissects it.

Moblit nods and straightens his cuffs. Levi knows why he doesn't speak, making sure nobody hears his voice, so he shoulders his bundle and shoves the shotgun into the holster.

“Move it, doc.”

Hanji checks their rucksack one more time, then swings it over their shoulder. Levi snatches the bandana they hold out for him and stuff it into his pocket: putting it on now wouldn't help much, everyone who has their eyes open for bounty has seen his face, and hiding it would signal fear now. Besides, he won't wear that rag before he needs to.

He expects Hanji to tell Moblit goodbye, yet the doctor simply claps the synth on the shoulder, the hard line of their mouth eases slightly. Then they move out.

 

True to Fahrenheit's word, Levi doesn't sense new, alarming attention for his person outside – the news haven't traveled that fast, but they'll catch up with him soon. He has never wanted people to remember him for anything, a wanderer with no reputation, and he will reconsider his course after this; meaning, after he's set things straight.

Moblit doesn't watch them leave openly, keeps up the pretense that they've merely finished their business here: he has taken back the subway tokens and gone straight to the task Hanji has given him. Or at least he's appeared to. Levi isn't fooled. But assuring Moblit would mean claiming that Hanji will be safe with him, and  _that_ is a bare lie.

Only Uri waits at the southern gate, the one Erwin has used hours before, and smiles his idiotic, innocent smile. “Field trip, children?”

Levi rolls his eyes at the attempted lightness, Hanji just nods while trying to stuff a lock of hair under the hat. Uri watches them both, gauges something Levi finds hard to understand, then folds his hands behind his back. His eyes, despite their blackness, look utterly bright for some reason, and appear oddly tranquil, as if he's not worried at all.

“Have a good day, then.”

Levi steps through the gate and feels the lasers leave him, open space again, something he's finally used to. Hanji doesn't follow immediately, but when they do, they look like there's nothing they'd hate doing more.

 

Traveling with Hanji is different from Erwin.

The doctor's stamina isn't as good, though they doggedly follow Levi's pace, and whenever their breathing grows strained and sweat darkens the hairline, they take a break in complete silence. It's different from Erwin's silence: it's stiff and strained, plagued by unspoken thoughts. It seems that the doctor never stops thinking, their mind is always occupied, and ever since finding out where Erwin has gone, nothing pleasant or fascinating is implied.

The landscape stays the same, biting wind and brown plains everywhere. The ground is churned in random spots, suggesting rad scorpions lurking in the earth. On more than one occasion, Levi has to stop Hanji, urging them to climb onto rocks and stay still until he tells them otherwise – they obey without complains, hinting that the wildlife isn't what makes them so tense.

They should be. But scolding them will do no good.

When it gets dark and thus too dangerous to walk on, there is nothing to climb on; sleeping on the ground would be equally deadly, so Levi finds the wreck of an ancient car and decides it'll have to do. He could go on alone, his senses can detect the scorpions in time, but there's Hanji to watch out for, as well as the venom of those beasts.

Hanji doesn't protest when he orders them to stop, but the lines around their mouth tighten even more. “He crossed the plains in daylight, didn't he,” they say without quite needing Levi's confirmation.

Erwin hasn't been forced to rest here, he's probably continued his way towards the town: he's officially uncatchable.

Seeing no reason to state the obvious, Levi climbs into the creaking wreck and settles on the skeleton of the driver seat. Uncomfortable, yet relatively safe to sleep on, as the sonar of the rad scorpions won't detect their living bodies above the ground. So it's bearable that the roof has rusted open and the wind howls through the wreck.

To think that those things once moved in huge numbers... Must have been nice.

Hanji stiffly folds themselves into the other seat and hugs their bag to their chest, huffs out a little puff of warm breath. “You know, Uri said he only survived the bombs because of traffic jam... Hundreds of these things stuck on a highway.”

Either they have guessed Levi's thoughts, or they mean to say at least something as they rummage through their stuff. He doesn't feel like talking, but the doctor doesn't seem to mind – they have a habit of monologizing as they work, and apparently when they want to keep the silence at bay.

“He got a phone call – that used to be something like radio comm – from his niece and ended up leaving his home too late to catch his plane. And he survived... Till this day, we don't quite know how ghoulification triggers, and who gets to keep their sane mind instead of... turning into a mutated beast.”

They find a ration bar and tear it open to listlessly chew on the mostly tasteless mass, and Levi is about to close his eyes just for the sake of ending any conversation when the doctor speaks up with their mouth full: “Say, Levi... You ever think humans deserve this? You're a synth, it's possible you won't  _ever_ age. If you don't die for some other reason, you'll get to see the whole filthy end.”

“You're full of shit,” is what Levi says, eyes stubbornly closed. The thought that he won't age has never crossed his mind, and he can't find out anyway; he'll know in a few years, and then he'll worry if need be.

“So you don't think so. That's refreshing to hear! I might have questioned your motives for this hike otherwise.” Hanji's tone is light, slightly muffled through them munching on compressed nutrients – Levi actually wonders whether he's misunderstood them at first.

“You're the one who shouldn't be here, sawbones.”

“Oh, I do.” At least Hanji swallows before replying. “You might need a doctor. Well, not you, but Erwin probably will.”

Levi opens his eyes eventually, the starry sky is pin-sharp and looms before them; he averts his gaze to look at Hanji, only to see them staring up as well.

“You hate him.”

“I don't.” Hanji is too hard-boiled to be baited so easily, yet their grin is brisk, bares too many teeth. “And someone like you knows damn well it's not that simple.”

Levi rolls his eyes: playing games is the last thing he's up for now. Folding his arms close to his chest to keep his fingers warm, he pulls one of his knees close and leans against the creaking seat. “Can I rely on you or not, fucker? If you let me down in there, you'll be sorry.”

It's a sober threat, the simple truth – Hanji doesn't know how bad that place is, Levi himself can guess, but he can't afford not knowing someone's priorities.

Hanji doesn't answer immediately this time. The starlight in their glasses reflects, turning their eyes into shining flat disks with no expression and no warmth.

“We did a lot to find you,” they say eventually, “and perhaps even too much. If I have any chance to keep you alive and free, I will.” There is no effort to persuade Levi in that voice, and no pleading softness as they turn their head towards him. Now their eyes are dark pools. “I've got something to ask of you, though. In case I die.”

The thought doesn't seem to scare them, and Levi wonders what someone of such vivid energy and ambitious dreams must have been through to feel that way. He finds he can't turn them down.

“If it's possible, bury me somewhere. Doesn't have to be that deep, just somewhat properly.”

Levi nods before he's quite thought it through; something about Hanji demands it, and the way they relax into their seat and take up eating again tells him that this has been important.

Rotting in the earth... Well. If he dies, Levi knows he won't have that luxury, but unlike Hanji, he doesn't want to plan his deathbed already. And he's never assumed that anyone would be there after his death to fulfill his last wishes.

Odd. He wonders what Uri would make of that. The mere inclination that he'd want to hear his opinion annoys Levi, and he begins to dig around for his own dinner. If they're stuck in this wreck till daylight, he can at least time his energy budget for a fight, avoiding both weakness and digestion slowing him down.

Hanji suddenly smacks his back, straight and clean teeth gleam in the sparse moonlight as they broadly grin, an abrupt swing of mood that has Levi wondering whether the doctor does their share of chems, too.

“That's my man, eating after talk of death! You're unflappable, aren't yee?”

There's no irony as far as Levi can detect it, and he has to admit that Hanji's demeanor is both pesky and disarming. He doesn't get them, but he might like them, and that makes him wary.

“Why's that a surprise?” Levi grumbles instead, holding onto his annoyance for now. “After all, you _know_ me.”

At least they know recordings of Ackerman, and that seems to suffice.

Hanji leans into the skeleton of the seat with a grunt of discomfort and shrugs, snuffling noisily when the cold wind picks up again. “I'm a scientist – what I  _know_ is that tests made under laboratory conditions can be fundamentally different from field experience. If I hadn't been aware of that already, Erwin would be the prime example, and I can't see another explanation of Moblit coping with the change of body.”

Levi knows he shouldn't ask. It's none of his business, it's of no help now, and he feels clearly awkward even talking about someone who might be... dead.

And yet there are things about Erwin that never did make any sense, and Levi sees no way to figure them out himself – he doesn't know where to start.

“Why's that?”

Levi forces the words out, so he makes them short. Which bears the obvious risk of Hanji misunderstanding him.

“Well, you see, even though Moblit used to be a household robot, his sensory information isn't meant to be _understood_ , just recognized, and the circumstances of his evolution still baffle me-”

“I meant Erwin.”

Hanji closes their mouth, as if wondering how a human can be more interesting than an evolving robot hybrid. Levi keeps the stubborn silence, wanting to change the topic and then... not, this is idiotic.

“When he tricks himself, he essentially does the same thing as Moblit – at least I think so. It's not my subject, and we agreed to leave it at that.”

Levi waits. And after a long silence, realizes that Hanji waits, too. This is increasingly weird, and Levi considers leaving it at that again; but it might be important, possibly even for his strategy at the Combat Zone.

“I don't have a fucking idea what you're talking about, sawbones. Out with it.”

Hanji lets out a reluctant snort, as if they're internally squirming: something that doesn't make sense for someone so unconcerned about personal space and their own identity. Their silence stretches, up to the point where Levi thinks they won't answer at all.

“I wouldn't speak about this if the risk that Erwin never gets around to doing it himself wasn't quite so high. But I suppose we can't expect you to be honest while keeping secrets... and the details shouldn't matter.” Hanji sighs, again that weary sound of someone who feels an age they don't actually have yet. It should feel condescending when they say this, but Levi has seen and heard this expression in the doctor multiple times now; often enough for him to think that whatever they keep secret, they aren't making the decision an easy one for themselves.

Besides, he can always get angry afterwards.

Hanji rubs their cold fingers together, too slow to actually create a little warmth, as if they can't spare the energy.

“Humans aren't very different from machines,” they start, “and they can be conditioned to behave in certain ways, along with mental barricades that block their mind. You can 'teach' someone loyalty without breaking them, unlike the Gunners do, and you can... implement bans for behavior that you deem undesirable. Imagine the perfect soldier – skilled in every kind of combat, educated, hardened against pain, but it's not useful if they come up with ideals that oppose yours.” Hanji lightly taps their temple, for once the feat of science doesn't awake admiration within them. Their voice is almost bleak, like they purposefully cut themselves off from emotions while they talk. “However, if you shape someone to renounce alcohol and common drugs, to avoid sexual relationships and forbid to speak about internal affairs, your risk that your soldiers will form revolts is minimized.”

It sounds... ridiculous, impossible to perform, and Levi doesn't want to believe it. Although this could explain a few things about Erwin that otherwise remained a mystery, and underneath it all, Levi is convinced Erwin couldn't have tricked him so thoroughly.

He has the appearance of someone not born and raised under the sun, and while the vaults from before the Great War are said to have been destroyed long ago, it's not necessarily true; and they have been technically advanced, after all. Erwin's whole built is strangely perfect, his training outrivals that of a ranked Gunner.

Erwin does drink alcohol, but he's always mixed it with something to cover the flavor. The same doesn't work for chems, so it's imaginable why he's never joined Levi for a trip.

And then there have been those moments when he truly seemed to be unable to speak. When he struggled physically to find words despite his usual eloquence, and it always concerned something personal, as if he has been fighting to dig it out.

_What_ is _there above all else?!_

Levi isn't willing to accept it yet, but there is the possibility that Erwin actually could not tell him. It doesn't change anything, of course – none of it does.

“Fucking's not his damn problem.”

“Well,” Hanji huffs stiffly, “nobody goes rubbing that into people's face – been thinking for a long time that he just doesn't have a thing for-”

“I know,” Levi cuts them off flatly, too irritated to honor discretion for once.

Hanji closes their mouth with a click of their teeth, and Levi quietly wonders whether they might actually be blushing. At least there's a few long seconds of flustered silence until the doctor clears their throat.

“Sure explains you guys' bad atmosphere,” they eventually say. “Jeesh... Still, don't think Erwin would've gone through the humiliation of telling me his exact conditions if he wasn't sure himself.”

It almost tempts Levi to laugh how sex is the one thing that Hanji's explanation excludes, but before amusement comes, it gives him pause that Erwin hasn't told them about his tryst with Levi, even when every piece of information would have helped the doctor's work. If just to avoid awkward situations once they would have questioned Levi whether he's even attracted to humans.

Even so, Hanji would have noticed if Erwin at least attempted to tell them, so he must have meant to keep quiet.

It's hard to wrap his head around this – Uri might make sense of this, Levi can't. And as much as he just might have grown fond of the old ghoul, sex and its possible side-effects are not something he'd like to... discuss with him.

And speaking of uncomfortable topics, even Hanji seems more than content to leave it at that. Levi knows that since he has promised to watch over them, he has a right to question them further: for example about what Fahrenheit said about them raising the dead, or about the old grudge towards Erwin, possibly their relationship with Moblit. No doubt all of those would make Hanji uneasy, even corner them. And it might be the last chance to talk to them about it, because tomorrow, they could either die or be separated.

Why would they even deserve his consideration, after all?

Levi moves so one of the rusty springs stops poking him even through the improved protection of his new gear. “Just so you know, not gonna dig a hole around here. Too bloody wet earth.”

Hanji snorts quietly, but it sounds like it could have been a chuckle, too. “I'll try not to die around here, then.”

 

They set off as soon as the light conditions are acceptable for Hanji's eyes, grim silence once again settling in. It's less tense than before, though: more like the doctor steels themselves for the strenuous travel. It means they pay less attention to the wildlife, but between pushing them on and staying on his guard, what he'd do anyway, Levi finds this the easier alternative. He can tell Hanji is exhausted, and still they cut the breaks to make up for lost time, only stopping when Hanji's feet get caught all too often in the coils of hard grass and old wire.

Around noon, they take the first long break in an abandoned shed, and Levi considers letting the doctor sleep for half an hour. They sit next to him, back against the wall beside the door. The autumn chill has gotten stronger and the sky is gray, wind snatches warmth from between layers of clothing.

It's been easier to ignore this when Hanji was mostly wearing power armor and their face was smeared with oil, but now Levi is forced to realize it once more: how frail normal humans are. No matter how strong Hanji's brilliant mind is, their body still shivers, grows stiff with fatigue, their vigilance eventually tires as well. Compared to him, their senses are dull and slow.

Protecting someone so weak is difficult – far more challenging than surviving on his own, and a dozen times harder than simple killing. Detaching himself would be easy.

“Let's burn the midnight oil.” Hanji brushes crumbs from their leg and tugs their hands into the pits of their arms to warm them.

And Levi's thought he's been thorough with checking their luggage – flammable liquids might do more harm than good in a cramped space. “Where the fuck did you hide that?”

“Oh.” Hanji blinks in surprise. “That's just a saying if you go all night.”

Levi huffs and runs his fingers over the grip of his shotgun, a bit irked by the lack of scratches and nicks. “Big talk for someone who can't keep up.”

It's a fact, not an insult, and Hanji is reasonable enough to not take it as the latter: it doesn't mean they agree, though. “I'll tough it out, laddie. Thing is...” They stretch their calf with half a grimace and begin to knead the muscle mercilessly with their knuckles. “Been a while since I've been to an arena, but I distinctly remember that the fights usually start at sundown. You know, so you have enough time to rob travelers and earn caps to lose 'em later. If we keep up to the tempo you predicted and reach the Combat Zone sometime around noon, it doesn't do us a whole lot of good.” What they mean is:  _We'll be too late then._ Levi is silent.

“Since you're the one who has to do the fighting, I'd ask you whether you can handle it, but it's either that or we can turn around right now.” Hanji switches to their other calf and pushes their glasses up with the back of an arm.

The doctor is right, and Levi knows it. He also knows that if it weren't for Hanji's insistence to come along, he'd be way ahead.

The new Combat Zone will probably require him to give everything he's got, especially because he has to do more than 'just win' now. If he pushes close to his limits again, what will Ackerman give him to remember?

_Little moon._

Levi briefly closes his eyes and then rises smoothly. He feels like he could run, if it weren't for the human and weak muscles. Helping Hanji up, feeling their frail bones and weary limbs, reminds him that no matter what they'll encounter, he'll be stronger. They just have to beat time.

There's always a mistake in all too easy plans.

 

Staying the course means being merciless. Although Hanji is the one who has suggested setting the pace up and the breaks down, they seem to resent Levi for enforcing it – but they don't complain, so he lets them brood.

What Hanji doesn't do, to Levi's surprise, is take chems to nullify fatigue and strengthen vigilance. He doesn't understand: being a doctor, they can create drugs themselves and see that they get the dose right, and they will need that energy. If that part about the Combat Zone hasn't changed (and Fahrenheit didn't make it sound like it had), everyone is high there.

When they take their last small break before entering the border territory in sparse firelight, Hanji dabs sweat from their face and takes their glasses off to rub their reddened eyes. Even in the small, dirty shelter they've found under a large collapsed advertisement sign, Levi can smell them, make out the new, sharp lines of fatigue. And he can tell they look miserable.

“Wanna get high?” It's the only comfort he can think of.

The grim gleam in Hanji's brown eyes tells him that his suggestion makes them angry; yet instead of snapping, they rummage through their bag and produce a small jar of black paint.

Ah, that. How Levi has waited to smear dirt onto his face.

“Not everyone can start and quit like you do,” Hanji gruffly replies and motions for him to come over so they can apply the paint in what little light they have. Levi is pretty sure the doctor just doesn't want to move, but he grants them the last bit of rest and crouches before them. Hanji touches his chin with a clammy hand to tilt his head in the right angle, then dips their fingers into the viscous creme.

It takes surprisingly much not to slap those fingers away the instant they touch his brow, and Levi realizes it has little to do with the greasy dirt sticking to them: the closer they get to the only place he can actually remember, the more he tenses, and every touch seems hostile now. He closes his eyes to conceal his flitting gaze and lets Hanji do their work.

“I knew someone like you once,” the doctor remarks as their fingers brush the soft skin of Levi's eyelid with astonishingly steady precision. “Someone who didn't know where he belonged and sort of... drifted along.”

That's no way Levi would have described himself, but he barely listens; being temporarily blind, he pays more attention to the sounds around them.

Hanji makes a few wide, messy lines that run down Levi's cheek, finishing that side of his face. The area around his eye is black now, the color extends up to his brow and fans even to his temple and over his cheek. The paint sometimes covers even more, but the bandana will hide that anyway.

Hanji turns Levi's head with dirty fingers and dips them into the creme again to repeat the procedure.

“He had the guts to change,” they say quietly. “Good man. Died, eventually. He chose so.”

Levi's skin under the paint feels unpleasantly warm, like the thick layer retains the heat. When he blinks, he can feel the smeared soot on his lids. Hanji isn't quite finished, yet they don't protest against his open eyes, his cold stare. If anything, their lips twist in grim amusement.

“What I'm getting at – you can't do right. Tell someone he's special and he dies, you'll forever wonder whether you coulda prevented it by keeping your gob shut. So...”

Under Levi's piercing glare, Hanji casually scoops the rest of paint from the jar and, without a warning, presses their fingers into his hair to rub it in. Strands immediately clump together in lank strings, glued to his scalp by greasy color and fat.

Levi has to physically resist backhanding the doctor. Even more so when they grin at him and tug at a revoltingly dirty strand of hair, brushing it back into an even more ridiculous hairdo than the one Erwin keeps.

“Imagine me dying without doing this,” Hanji chirps and hands Levi the bandana.

“I'll toss you into a dumpster full of piss, shit-doctor,” he bites back while moving his jaw as little as possible, as if actually restricting himself from that.

“Picturesque, I'll give you that.” Hanji begins to bury the remains of fire under the usual mass of trash, casually checking whether they've covered hair and body enough. “Alright, my most-wanted companion, help me up – we've earned ourselves some entertainment.”

 

The night is cold and damp, too clouded for moonlight, but Levi recognizes everything: the structure of these ruins, the skeletons of trees and ancient city life, car wrecks and broken asphalt. The feelings of paint on his face and the cloth of the bandana (it smells like chamomile, like Moblit indeed tried to clean it last minute) do help, though: they remind him that this is different, and that he's no longer a caged rat. That, and Hanji's steps beside him, much too loud yet somewhat calming. The doctor may not be much of a fighter, but he can trust them as far as their shared interests.

Finding the Combat Zone, eventually, is pathetically easy.

Levi spots other passers-by: they don't even try to be quiet, and their loud voices are simple to follow. They head to the old theater, a structure that even Levi's eyes struggle to make out against the black, starless sky.

When he sees where the voices lead, his breath catches.

“Something up?” Hanji's heard it, and Levi realizes that they must have listened to him rather than their surroundings.

“It's the same,” he says, doesn't like the hesitant tone of his own voice. He doesn't doubt, he's just... unbelieving. “It looks the same.”

Building houses in the wastelands is something you don't do. Sheds are manageable, everything else needs intact machines and certain materials and some sort of specific knowledge, not to mention a number of workers. Moving to other ruins that are relatively usable is the only option, so reconstructing something as big as a theater is... simply not doable.

“Fishy,” Hanji agrees. “Let's see about the inside. Can't think of anyone organized enough who'd have an interest in re-building a fight club lodging.”

Levi can't, either, and he's less interested in the Who instead of the Why.

As they approach, the ill feeling in the pit of his stomach settles a little: although some of the brick foundations survived the fire, the walls are more rusty metal sheets reinforced with chipboard and covered with plastic tarp. Still impressive work, something that's cost effort, but not beyond possibility.

What surprises Levi is that it's... quiet. There's nobody outside, no roar of the audience, more like a faint humming that Levi believes are many voices. They just seem far away for these thin walls-

He senses movement and immediately draws his shotgun while shoving Hanji away, nearly sending them to the ground. His eyes don't need long to fixate the silhouette leaning against an old lamppost: their arms are crossed and seem empty, at least.

An oil lantern is turned up, and a ghoul in spike armor gives them a fragmentary grin. Levi doesn't remember him, but then again, ghouls are difficult to recognize.

“Easy now, stragglers.” He's stretching the syllables in a way that seems exaggerated, ironic even – like he's drunk and sober at the same time, as his pronunciation is sharp. For a guard, he doesn't seem attentive at all, which is idiotic in a place where riots occur more often than not.

Hanji has recovered their balance and eyes him warily. “So what's the fee?”

The ghoul simply shrugs, and Levi can't even detect the measuring note of someone who's trying to squeeze out a few extra caps. “Nothing, sugar. Go right ahead.”

He points towards a beaten door that appears to have no further security, scrap wood that you could break open with a kick. That thing couldn't keep out a cold draft, not to mention violent guests.

Hanji glances at Levi, probably to see whether this is normal – whether it makes sense for it to be this easy. Deciding he might as well speak, Levi lowers the shotgun a little, just to show good will.

“We're looking for someone.”

If you inquire after someone while holding a gun and don't reveal your face, it's safe to assume that you mean to cause him or her harm – it's a common understanding. The old Combat Zone had strict rules for fights outside the cages, punishing such behavior with penalties of varying pain and humiliation. No use in keeping arenas if people brawl outside the amusement area, after all.

The ghoul doesn't even look at the shotgun, and Levi can't sense any tension in his posture; it's not something he generally gets.

“Good luck lookin' then.” There's that grin again, that blurry expression that has Levi wondering what this man sees before his very eyes. “You go in, you're reborn.”

It makes a chill run down Levi's spine for no other reason than the feeling that he's been reborn already, and the ominous babble of a stoned idiot reaches into that core. Even when Hanji touches his arm to tug him towards the door, Levi's focus is on the ghoul, expects him to turn on them any second.

He doesn't. He simply lowers the flame of his lantern again and stares into the ruins with an intensely empty expression that makes Levi want to fire a shot into the back of his head.

Then he goes to hell.

 

The Combat Zone is the place of ugly memories and fear, and Levi has been prepared for his subconsciousness to experience it as more threatening than it actually is because of that.

But there's none of that. It's just hell. A seething, stinking pit. Literally.

It's unbearably loud and everything chokes with thick smoke, so when pandemonium unfolds before him, Levi stumbles and feels biting heat engulf him, crawl over him,  _mark him._

Before them, the ground opens into a hole, as large as the former floor of the theater, and leads deeply into the earth, as if a giant impact has simply torn out the fundament until it reached the sewerage. Levi can't see far enough to make out the bottom yet, but he can spot spiderwebs of chain bridges through his watering eyes.

But that isn't what makes this place monstrous – it's the people. It's their madness.

They are a mass that surges back and forth around the pit, and wherever Levi looks while he tries to blink the smoke out of his eyes, he doesn't see a sane soul, only rabid expressions of hunger, anger, excitement or... nothing at all, merely a sick lightness. Although the light conditions draw grimaces on every face, there's something more at work; Levi perceives it like a veil covering the place.

A woman with a bleeding wound on her shoulder stumbles by; she scratches thoughtfully at it, completely unaware of pain, her eyes follow shadows – then she suddenly reaches out what Levi senses to be the wish of burying her dripping fingers in Hanji's eye-sockets. He rams her arm out of the way as the doctor flinches, but the woman's eyes already move further and she hurries on.

The crowd is full of them, all kinds of fellows, mostly humans of all ages. Their laughter is shrill, almost everyone keeps making noise; Levi can't find his orientation here, his senses scream for him to run.

He can't, though, and they're too far in the open here. The uneven ground consists of hard dirt and carries the echo of a slow beat through tiny vibrations. Levi recognizes that beat and drags Hanji deeper into the mass without warning; if they struggle, they're no match for him, and everything surrounding them is more dangerous anyway.

He spots a niche where the ticket counter used to be and pushes Hanji inside. They're not alone here, there are at least two people intensely engaged in passionate activities that sound like fighting animals, but at least they're less likely to attack anyone else. Levi lifts a hand to tug the bandana down; the cloth nearly suffocates him in the already stifling heat caused by the burning barrels. They seem to be the only source of light, create smoke and have Levi breaking out in sweat already.

Hanji stops him before he has the shitty rag down – they have regained composure, though their voice is still too quiet – Levi can't make out the words, and his eyes sting too badly to read their lips.

“... air. Keep the bandana on,” Hanji leans in and instructs more firmly, their lips brush Levi's ear as they speak. “Can't stay long. Some sort of drug... Vile.” They shake their head in what Levi only hopes is disgust and horror, not beginning symptoms.

From what Fahrenheit said, the madness of her men lasted longer than the exposure to this – it seemed to have them in its grip until death's door. But Levi decides against letting Hanji in on that bit of information now.

The doctor's forehead is deeply lined with tension as they glance around and cough into their sleeve. “How can this be?”

Indeed – how could the ruin they've seen from afar contain so much smoke and people and conceal it all? The only possibility Levi can think of is some sort of ventilation system and paths from the sewers, but in any case, it demands specific knowledge. Not to mention that whatever is in the air here is... almost turning people into rabid animals.

Levi leaves that for Hanji to figure out; he's simply here to make sure they stay here as little as possible. “The cages are gone.” No, that's not correct, he's almost positive they're not  _gone_ . “Gotta go down there.”

Hanji seems to struggle with the mere idea; it's a sensible reaction, and as soon as Levi has found a spot that's easy to defend, he'll leave the doctor there and dig out Erwin. He can't protect Hanji from gas, and looking at this madhouse, he knows they'll need medical service more than ever.

“The concentration of whatever drug must be even worse down there,” Hanji tells Levi before he can turn away. Sweat gleams on their face, too, but the sickly color of their face does nothing to cloud their clear gaze. “Unless we're sure, you can't go.”

The lines between worrying for Levi and worrying for their own safety are blurred, yet Hanji seems sure of their words. They breathe slowly through their sleeve covering mouth and nose, and for a moment, Levi can't help wishing they'd have allowed Moblit to come along – drugged air would be irrelevant for a robot.

Levi pins them with a stare of his own, because even if he acknowledges their concern for him, he can't allow uncertainties to remain.

“The Zone master is down there,” where the blood is shed and payment in different currencies is exchanged, “Erwin must've been there. Still is, possibly. 'Sides, chems don't fuck me up.” Not that Levi can be sure with a substance he doesn't know, but now's not the time to be accurate: there's no alternative anyway.

A wave of cheers and howls erupts around the pit and trails off into the clang of metal on metal from multiple sources. It's how the end of a fight used to be announced, honored with curses if the contestant managed to leave the cage by themselves. Levi doesn't hear those; he has little doubt that fights end with death now.

So where do the bodies go? It only now occurs to Levi that they might have to search for Erwin among the corpses, that he'll need to find characteristics that identify him. His mind supplies him with blond hair, clotted with blackened blood, empty blue eyes and a jagged scar on his leg. It's vivid, the confrontation is necessary, and yet it stirs something inside of Levi.

“'Kay.” Thankfully, Hanji chases it away with their voice – it must have seemed like Levi was waiting for their approval, and while that's not true at all, it's better than explaining his reaction to himself. He nods curtly and leaves the niche, the doctor following closely.

Now that Levi's eyes have accommodated to the biting smoke, he can see that not everyone here is helplessly high or reacts in the same way: some still watch their surroundings carefully, picking pockets or collecting information, others seem to come down from their fits of madness. It eases the tight coil in Levi's stomach a little, but not much; now he has to consider being recognized after all, even with this camouflage. The bandana sticks to the sweat quickly forming in the stifling warmth and itches on his skin, and he  _physically does not want to go down there._

No way to avoid it, though. He can't possibly send Hanji alone, and he can't get scared of a fucking hole either.

The crowd is thick around the pit, people leaning over a guard rail of taut metal chains that rattle loudly; it's bound to be deafening once the people get exited, and Levi is half relieved they're not. He elbows his way to the rim, one hand on his dagger, one fisted into Hanji's coat. It's not a reassuring touch, just leverage if someone decides to push him.

Plank bridges span over the pit, made from the same metal chains and scrap as the guard rail. The pit does look like something has caved in, but it's been reinforced in some ways Levi can't identify. The path spirals downward, more people cram the close space and make it difficult to make out the direct route.

He's never seen so many people in one spot before. The Wastelands don't have gatherings in general, only specific groups that may meet on occasion, and settlements never take in more people than they can feed. Still, this is... a mass. Spotting Erwin among them will be harder than it already seemed.

And there are the cages.

Levi has always wondered whether the heat of a fire consuming an old theater is enough to melt them into a puddle: he's been confident, but now he's forced to realize how naive that was. The three monstrosities are still there, perhaps fixed in places but never beyond repair.

As usual, the people surround them, reach into them or stick something in, hit the metal with something hard. Only one is being used right now, going by the cluster of the audience, and it's probably the best to go down there now, while fewer people try to watch from above.

There has to be an announcer, someone who riles the audience up, even if that's no longer needed, but Levi has spotted some simple speakers around. Having those has always been a great benefit of the Combat Zone: how they ever got a replacement, Levi can't guess. He's trying not to think about it, only to stay on his guard and extend his vigilance to Hanji while hurrying over the plank bridge. It trembles under too many steps and weight bouncing on it – the doctor yelps when the bridge rocks and stumbles, Levi yanks them back to him and takes a large step to carry them to the spiral path in the pit's wall.

The air grows thicker and aches in Levi's throat. At first it seems like his heart is thumping in his chest, but that's not all: the deeper they go, the clearer he feels the beat of something deep, like drums. Uninterrupted, mechanical. The spectators have picked it up, some merely tap their feet, others hammer bare fists against the walls. Or howl along. Their voices also seem deeper, like they are trying to convey a message.

Levi shakes his head with vigor to get rid of the useless fantasy. At least he has spotted the wooden podium that seems to fulfill the same function as the announcer's stage, probably serving as the bookmaker as well. At least it used to be that way, and Levi finds himself gauged by a man with a shaven skull and strangely still eyes.

“Hey.” Levi adopts the behavior of the raider whose paint he wears, clicks his fingers in front of the slowly blinking eyes. “You seen a vault dweller around? Tall, blond, 'casional limp?”

The bookmaker stares at him, neither intimidated nor bored, and Levi wonders whether he's even understood him. Vault dwellers are usually people who try to retain the pre-War lifestyle, when the vaults were filled with optimistic civilians, but they are no less scum than the rest of the living population these days. The description might not be of much use if Erwin has changed his appearance as well.

The bookmaker still gazes at Levi with an odd, empty expression. “Yes.”

Hanji lets out a deep sigh that ends with a cough. “Thank  _God_ . Where?”

The bookmaker doesn't seem to have heard them, nor does his stare move from Levi. Perhaps everyone reacts differently to the chemicals and the smoke, but Levi is glad for the bandana covering parts of his face from that stare. “How much?”

Since silence is usually a demand for a bribe.

“Bet what you can spare.” Just like the guard outside, the bookmaker doesn't seem to care about the stake, just remotely fulfills requirements for an appearance. Sweat trickles down Levi's back at the thought.

“We're not here to bet-”, he means to go on, but the bookmaker adverts his eyes at that, abruptly losing interest if they're not hear for business, and Levi runs out of patience. His hand shoots up to grapple the pale throat and drag the choking man down to his eye-level.

In the old Combat Zone, someone would strike you down from behind for attacking the staff. Here, nobody seems to be aware. Or to mind.

“Where?” he repeats, squeezing the voice box for good measure before loosening his grip again. His thumb and index finger dig into the branches of the jugular vein.

The bookmaker isn't fazed.

Of course, he shows the physical symptoms of strained breathing and stress, but despite his widening pupils and twisting facial muscles, the stillness somehow doesn't leave his eyes – it's unsettling to look at, and Levi feels some cruel desire within himself to tighten his grip until the eyeballs bulge from their sockets.

It might speed up his answers in the long run. But he won't.

The bookmaker stares at him; he doesn't look at Hanji, which is unusual for someone who would instinctively seek help from the more patient member of the pair, and his eyes are watery blue with a few burst blood vessels and thin lashes.

“At the bottom.” The voice is almost dazed, although Levi is sure he hasn't choked the man harder. “The only place... where questions are answered. Soon.”

The last word grazes something in Levi's mind and makes him shiver. “What's soon?” He feels like he knows.

“The next fight.”

Hanji hisses a curse that clicks in their throat and pushes close, past Levi so their face looms in front of the bookmaker's. “Why would he?!”

Again, it seems like he can only return a blank stare. Levi loosens his hold, but the man is frozen, obviously not as sober as he once seemed and at the same time eerily concentrated on him. “I do not know,” he breathes, nearly pained even as Levi lets him go completely. “I do not...”

Something about this man reminds Levi on Erwin in those moments when he genuinely seemed to struggle for words: wanting to, but somehow unable to and growing more stressed the longer it took.

And Erwin has gone down the pit. A drugged bookmaker is the least of their worries.

Levi whirls around and grabs Hanji's forearm to drag them further down, towards the drums and the frenzy. The doctor almost frantically pats his shoulder and back, trying to get the attention he really can't spare.

“Did you see that?!” Hanji's voice cracks a little over the last word. “He did... You did...”

“I did _nothing_ ,” Levi snaps, his heart seems to stutter the closer he gets to those damned cages. People here are swaying to the beat of the drums, the smell of blood is overwhelming: there must have been a lot of fights already, Levi smells the death, a mixture of piss and sharp decay. The spotlights are aimed at the bottom, bits of metal gleam dangerously everywhere.

“They listen,” Hanji mumbles, and Levi curses them for saying it between two drum beats so he actually hears them. “If you try hard enough, they obey you...”

Levi stops and turns, and he has half a mind to punch their lights out just to stop them. This is not the place, this is not the fucking truth either, nobody does shit because he demands it, only when he follows through with a threat.

Even if the bookmaker is a synth, he can't have answered simply because it was Levi who asked, who wanted answers badly enough to even... No.

The drums fall silent so suddenly that their echo vibrates in the walls. Levi knows what it means when the drums stop. And he knows it even before he has turned back towards the cages in the pit, now still about ten solid yards away from them.

He knows it's Erwin, and he knows Uri has been right: there is no way to survive for him.

Erwin is down to pants, bare chest and feet have often been a requirement for the illusion of fair fights. He seems himself, but Levi can't guess from this distance whether he has been exposed to the smoke for long enough. A part of him is traitorously relieved to see the dumb bastard, shamefully openly so, and that part trembles under the realization that Erwin did go so far for what Uri called atonement. That might also be true.

The other, far larger part is instantly angry.

The crowd roars, delighted with a fighter that promises excitement – they hammer against the cages, the spotlights cast sharp and flickering shadows all around. Erwin is clearly unused to the clamor and the brightness; he keeps turning his head, a sign of weakness because it betrays his inexperience with cage brawls, Levi wants to smack him for it.

The thought vanishes when a round hole in the opposite corner of Erwin's cage opens, probably a former gully, and the audience erupts into frenetic screams. It's deafening, but Levi knows it's not the reason he momentarily sways on his feet. This time Hanji grabs his arm to steady him, and he doesn't have the presence of mind to shove them off.

Because what emerges from the hole is not a human, not even a ghoul or a battle robot. It's a supermutant.

The people howl when the creature, easily twice as tall and four times as heavy as a man, pulls itself free and rises. Its dark green, hairless skin stretches over thick ropes of muscle, the crude, still human face shows simple amusement and naked greed. It only wears a loincloth, yet that makes no difference. The chin is shiny with drool as the small eyes roam the pit and take in what the creature sees: so much living meat, fresh blood and bones.

“I'll be damned,” Hanji hisses. “How could he beat that monster?”

“Nobody can,” Levi hears himself say, rather neutrally. For a split second, he wonders whether he himself could, if he were armed. Possibly. But Erwin, for all his training and grit, he can't. He's merely there to give the audience a show because he might survive a while, and then his death will be slow and agonizing. Supermutants are brutal and have simple, barbaric natures, but they like suffering. All of them feel some basic form of hate towards the race that they sense is their origin, and that makes them hate humanity even more.

Kill. Snap. Eat. Repeat.

“Okay.” Hanji drags their hands over their sweaty face and over their mouth, tries to keep composure. “Gotta be a way out. Open the cage and-”

“No.”

The clarity is overwhelming. Levi sees it all: the gate of the cage has been melted in the heat of the fire that he once himself set, so now the opponents emerge through gullies in the ground, and those appear to be locked from below until the fight is over; until at least someone is dead. And he spots the gleam of Tommy guns, aimed at the cages. If anyone tries to flee or even wants to get in, they will be torn apart by bullets.

Erwin will die in there.

Even as Hanji talks, tries to convince Levi and mostly themselves that there is an escape route without having to win against that monster, Levi watches the supermutant charge. It's nearly comical: it's quick and powerful, and although Erwin is even quicker, it means nothing because even a good blow does nothing more than stun it for a tiny bit. The skin is thick and leathery, fists seem to just bounce off, and then one green arm simply swipes through Erwin's defense and throws him through the cage as if he's only an empty barrel.

Levi sees him crash. The dirty bars leave smears on Erwin's pale skin, he won't live long enough for the bruises to form. Blood flows from small wounds as he heaves and tries to breathe. Death will come by blunt force, not mercifully by a snap of the neck.

Erwin rolls away before the super mutant can kick him and break his ribs, possibly even his spine. Maybe he's fighting for his life, or he's fighting on principle. Levi feels like he owes him to watch, and at the same time, it's... unbearable. He's numb, unmoved, he does not want Erwin to die and there is nothing he can do. Again.

Hanji grabs his arm tighter. Levi can't comfort them, some part of him reminds him that he's supposed to protect them; that he can do, and at the same time, he  _has_ to witness how the supermutant laughs at a strike to the kidney. It's a small gift that Erwin's expression is too far away even for Levi to see. Has dogged determination already crumbled to despair?

“He will die,” Hanji croaks. “Do you swear that he will die?”

It's an odd thing to swear on. Levi stares at the pink foam that Erwin coughs up after crashing against the bars again. The supermutant seems to like throwing him. It grabs his head and blond hair disappears under fat green fingers. And then they pull him up like a rag doll.

“Yeah,” Levi responds, calm and cold. He expects the burst skull any second. “Soon.”

“Swear.”

He can't hear Erwin scream over the roar of the audience. If Erwin screams. He has screamed last time.

“I swear.”

Hanji exhales and loops an arm around Levi. He doesn't move, every muscle is stiff and unwelcoming to the doctor's embrace while he continues to stare into the cage.

Erwin somehow struggles free and rolls away. His arm has taken damage. He reaches up to righten his jaw, possibly broken or twisted. The supermutant is slowly losing interest in playing with its meal, and he can only try to run. He has probably been expecting an opponent he actually had a chance against, and it used to be that way. Not anymore, though. Now it's butchery.

Hanji's lips touch his ear again, as if they could force their words directly into his brain by doing that. “You have to go there,” they whisper. “You have to tell him something.”

Levi will risk his life if he tries to get to the cage when everyone is howling mad, but at the same time, it seems like a relief to share some of the risk Erwin has taken and failed. It makes sense, in a way – atonement, even when it's so very useless.

“Only he must hear,” Hanji grinds out, seemingly oblivious to what they demand; Levi would have to yell over the chaos around him, how could he make sure Erwin exclusively hears that? And while fighting for his life.

Hanji clutches him tighter, and it has never been an embrace. No, they make sure only Levi hears. “Only he,” they repeat. “Please.”

For the first time, Levi averts his gaze from the cage to look at Hanji instead of Erwin's vain struggle.

The doctor's face is tear-streaked. Not sorrowful, fearful tears. Levi sees and recognizes someone who has made a decision and suffers deeply from it, but deems it necessary. The tears are merely an outlet, they do not change a thing.

Hanji leans forward, and this time, Levi lowers his head to fit his ear against their mouth.

“ _75-13_ ,” they murmur, the wetness of their tears smudges the paint on Levi's cheek. “ _Bring glory to the Uptopland._ ”

That's all. Wordlessly, Levi takes off the coat Moblit has made for him: it's a fine thing, but in the raging crowd, something easily seizable will be a major disadvantage. He gives it to Hanji and checks his pockets. Dagger. Screwdriver. That'll work. Quick and subtle.

“Find the tunnel. Wait there.” The moment he says it, Levi isn't sure whether Hanji has even spotted the gully cover in the cage; their human eyes seem irritated by the smoke and dull compared to his. But the doctor is clever at least, they will come to their own conclusion, and more importantly, they will leave the worst turmoil. It's not the minimization of risk that Moblit has traded, yet Levi can't spare the time to escort Hanji himself – Erwin might hold out until then, but he won't be in any condition to run.

Supermutants enjoy crushing legs. They like helpless prey.

Hanji doesn't protest and rolls up the coat. Their movements are jerky, their face alarmingly colorless, and a part of Levi is actually hesitant to leave them alone. He hasn't considered himself fond of the lunatic, for all their shrewdness, and still something within him wonders about sticking to the achievable.

It doesn't take more than a second, however, and Hanji has already turned on their heel and ducks between the people.

The numbness suddenly vanishes under a burst of sickening tension, as if Levi has just now realized he's not a spectator anymore. Unlike the last time this happened, and something else is different. Nothing to dwell on now.

The bottom of the pit is clouded with smoke, figures sway and jerk, every weapon is concealed by these circumstances. As much as Levi just wants to run, he knows the risk is too high, and the area around the cage is so tightly packed with people that he can't simply push through. He approaches slowly, the smoke bites at his eyes and dries them up. He has to time blinks with the sweeps of his gaze.

An arm shoots out to grab him, something on him, and Levi yanks the spectator forward like a ram. People crashing to the ground leaves an opening elsewhere, lets him get closer to the cage. He's within the perimeter where people brush him every second, and he has to control his instincts not to lash about.

Being so short is an advantage while moving, but not for seeing. Erwin is out of his sight, though as long as the supermutant roars, he must still be moving. Levi doesn't allow himself fear, he only casts a glance at the guards with their guns and whether they watch him.

They don't. Everyone seems drawn to the bloodshed in a manner that's no longer normal even for this audience. Levi grits his teeth and pushes with more force, but the closer he gets, the clearer it becomes that he can't elbow his way to the front. There are no gaps to squeeze through, and he can't protect himself from attacks: Fahrenheit's mention of 'fancy wire' stuck in one of her men is still clear in his mind.

If he can't reach the cage from the side or the underground, he'll have to do it from above.

Levi turns around, back to the spiral path at the wall of the pit and runs. It's not nearly as inconspicuous as he'd like with a bounty on his head, but there's no alternative either, not when there's so little time. Besides, he can take the risk.

He'd take any risk. That realization comes almost casual, as if things become clear in his head once he's distracted. Levi dashes up the path, shoving aside those in his way, then steps onto the closest plank bridge. People have gathered there, too, seemingly oblivious to the danger of overloading the bridge with their combined weight. But the thin rails don't offer the stability of a standing crowd, it's easy to push spectators to the ground and haul himself off the bridge before he can gauge the distance.

It's higher than expected. Levi lands on the solid cage with a strained hiss, doesn't dare to roll off his shoulder, so he feels the impact in his knees and ankles. The sharp pain is vicious and paralyzes him for a precious second.

The supermutant looks up at him. It's so huge that even standing in a large cage, there's merely about a cubit between its head and the top bars. Small, hungry eyes stare at him, audacious and lively prey that dares to mock him by coming so close.

Then it grins, broad yellow teeth appear between thin lips and a fresh gush of saliva dribbles down between them. “Little raven,” it growls. “Come in. Play.”

It's a rather intelligent remark for a supermutant; then again, this one has been insightful enough to realize the boon of coming here and allowing humans to gather around it instead of attacking at once.

Levi's eyes dart to Erwin the moment he slams into his opponent – he still hasn't given up, and the supermutant nearly shrugs him off, hammering him yet again into the cage bars. Its knuckles are dark with blood that it licks off in a sloppy motion.

Erwin hasn't gotten up so far. His hands move uncoordinated, like he means to brace them and can't figure out how to do it. Something very cold and calm settles inside of Levi at the sight, something that despite his realistically low chances, wants to join the cage brawl.

“You no fun,” the supermutant hollers, and the audience screeches. Levi scrambles to the side of the cage where Erwin is, knowing that he has to get down soon or he'll be shot. The only reason nobody has done that so far is probably simple neglect, but he can't push it.

Erwin manages to rise on his knees and hands. His head is bleeding profusely from somewhere, and Levi is no longer sure he can even hear Hanji's message – however, this is his best and likely last chance while the supermutant is briefly distracted by the temptation of the audience.

He climbs down the bars, brings his heel down on any head or hand in his way, then sticks his arm through them as far as he can, until his shoulder is pressed against the dirty iron. He manages to touch Erwin's shoulder, wet with sweat and hot with exhaustion.

At that moment, Levi isn't even concerned that someone behind him will try to stab him. Something inside of him desperately wants to drag Erwin against the bars, wash away the blood and the pain and keep him there until he's well enough to get yelled at. And maybe for a while longer than that.

Erwin doesn't react to the touch. Of course not, people are always grabbing at the fighters through the bars. And usually to spur them on with pain. With Levi's camouflage and with his vision probably spinning, Erwin might not recognize him even if he looks.

Levis grits his teeth when he sees the supermutant turn, hunger back in its eyes, then squeezes his shoulder into the cage until he can grab Erwin's shoulder and pull at him. The other man struggles, then something seems to twist, a broken bone perhaps; his eyes are hazy with pain as he glances at Levi. He's close enough to see that much.

And it even hurts enough that Levi has to bite down on something that he can't waste on this boiling hell. Instead he leans closer, bandana not quite slipping from his mouth, but it's loose now, and he can speak.

““ _75-13_ ,” he repeats. “ _Bring glory to the Uptopland._ ”

At that, Levi has to let go and retract his arm and shoulder, otherwise the swipe of the supermutant's kick would have shattered his bones. He keeps holding onto the bars, now aware of the people surging against him, pinned to watch.

Erwin rises from the corner he has landed in.

It's surreal to see at first because it's a smooth movement, not crippled by pain and exhaustion. It's like he no longer feels that, and his breathing has gone slower, like the agony does not reach into his brain and therefore doesn't alarm his body.

His eyes quickly scan the place, then fix on the supermutant. As if he'd forgotten his opponent.

Then he lowers into a crouch, and as soon as the supermutant charges at him, he jumps,  _fucking jumps_ , to grab the top bars of the cage and swings his knees to crash into the mutant's face. It stumbles back, not seriously wounded but... startled.

Levi doesn't hear the roar of the crowd. He only stares, trying to comprehend.

Erwin can't jump that high. Presumably couldn't even do that without his bad leg, and with the scarred muscle being as it is... And yet he did. It's like he's at the top of his form suddenly.

The supermutant recovers, then rams its knuckles against each other. “Little human!” it thunders before reaching out to simply pluck Erwin from the bars, and that's something he can't evade. The supermutant envelops him in a crushing hold, grins as it begins to break ribs with its sheer strength. Hoisted up above the ground as he is, Erwin can't hope to escape.

As it turns out, he does not intend to.

Levi grasps it the fraction of a second before Erwin lowers his head, opens his mouth wide and digs his teeth into the bulging throat of the supermutant.

In one of their sermons, Levi remembers Hanji saying that the muscles of the jaw are the strongest in the human body: even strong enough to break the teeth out of their roots, should the full potential ever be unleashed. Which does not happen, usually, because humans don't have access to that power. It's not needed, normally.

Nearly dazed, Levi witnesses how Erwin bites down and tears out the supermutant's throat in a burst of blood. The spray hits him in the face, bubbles up from the deep wound and the torn artery, and even as he grip around him weakens, Erwin just breathes in and bites down again, filling his mouth with living flesh and agonized cries.

Levi feels the people rage, but he still can't hear them. He can see Erwin's eyes dart around, pupils tiny, alert.

It's the same expression that the supermutant had when it looked around: the unveiled intention to kill everything here. And not even out of greed or hunger or at least cruelty. There is absolutely nothing.

It's horrible.

Like the supermutant, Erwin – or whatever that thing is – arrives at the conclusion that those people are out of his reach. Even as the giant gargles and falls, he hovers over it. Elegant like a predator waiting patiently to strike again. Covered in blood, his face the mask of brutality.

So when the gully opens to let him out, he doesn't hesitate, just disappears.

Levi feels the shock in his bones, the disgust, the horror, but he wills it back down, focuses on getting away from the cage and deeper into the underground; meet with Hanji and... do whatever they'll do next. It's getting easier to move now that people aren't pressing themselves towards the cage anymore, and their drug-induced madness still seems harmless compared to what Erwin turned into.

Those words. Hanji cried saying them. Levi begins to understand why.

His side aches dully, and Levi is glad for Moblit's improvements of his gear – whatever someone tried to stick into him doesn't seem to have pierced skin. His sweat is oily on his skin, mixed with the paint and getting all over him, but it's not the reason he feels sick.

This part of the Combat Zone is new, so his knowledge of the place doesn't help him. As soon as he can grasp a clear thought, however, he turns to the one person he can be sure about both location and information – that bookmaker.

Levi doesn't want to face him again, to possibly test Hanji's theory of obedience, but if he can utilize that man, he will. The fighters' lounge hasn't been accessible for the audience in the old days and definitely isn't now, not with the brawls ending in death, so he needs someone to take him there on the quickest way.

Despite everything he's seen. Levi knows he wants to go down there, and not just to get Hanji. He has been doubtful about their reasoning for Erwin's behavior, still is, but what happened in the cage can't be explained by simple strict upbringing or a fault in character.

Now that the fight is over, some people crowd the wooden podium to exchange their winnings; the few sane visitors Levi would like to avoid, and he tugs the bandana firmly over the bridge of his nose. Slow, deep breaths.

The bookmaker counts down caps, but the moment he sees Levi heading for him, he puts everything down and... waits.

It's not the slack-jawed immobility that would have made it easy to say that  _something_ is wrong. Instead he acts like he's facing a person of authority, someone whose orders matter.

“I need to get underneath the arena.” Levi briefly glares at the visitors who have turned to glare at him themselves: they take in the paint and the emblem on the bandana, and most of them avert their eyes first. Good for them. Levi is in no mood to deal with shit.

The bookmaker nods and steps from the podium without a word.

Perhaps it's just a trap and he has somehow recognized Levi as someone wanted – though even in that case, it would have been wiser to put up a bit of a struggle, keep his face and all that. It makes Levi feel more strongly that this Combat Zone isn't meant to be a permanent installment, whoever rebuilt it has some purpose, but it's not financial. Everything except the basic fabric is temporary, bound to blow up any night.

But why? If he is willing to assume for a second that someone consciously placed a synth here to watch this and keep things ticking over, what are they expecting to happen?

The bookmaker leads Levi to a sloppy, but through the sheer mass of it solid junk wall and unlocks a small iron door. Despite the simple looks of it, Levi senses another system of security: there is the burnt smell of something intensely hot, both coppery and sharp, benzol maybe. If laser tripwires had a smell, Levi would describe it like that.

The bookmaker lets him in and closes the door behind them. The air is fresher here, the noise from the pit duller, and there's barely enough light to see the ladder leading deeper into the ground. The old red bricks and rusty pipes suggest that this is indeed a part of the sewers, no longer the theater itself – they are standing on one of the ducts, and the ladder leads into the canal. Probably dry by now, but always a breeding ground for nasty creatures.

Levi draws his shotgun and climbs down before he can have second thoughts – then realizes he hasn't heard the door open and close a second time.

“Levi?”

Hanji's voice, barely above a whisper when Levi is on the last third of the ladder. They sound unharmed, although it's hard to tell when their throat is raw from breathing the smoke. At least Levi doesn't smell blood on them as he grunts in affirmation, his feet touch the worn stone ground. His eyes adjust to an even deeper darkness, the only light source being a few patches of the thin, glowing mushrooms that the radiation has created. Even he can't see far, but it's enough to make out a few barrels, sealed chests and Hanji's silhouette close to the ladder.

“Found him?”

Erwin climbed down, so he must be here, as well as his equipment – he couldn't have left without it.

“Yes,” Hanji replies flatly and quietly. “But I had to wait for you.”

They hand his coat back to him, then dig around in their backpack for something Levi can't see. He must have a lighter on him somewhere, even he needs a bit to shoot properly-

“No light,” Hanji adds, as if they have guessed his intention. Wasn't that hard, albeit. “Keep quiet. Leave it to me.”

“We need to get the fuck away from here,” Levi hisses back. “ _Now_.”

“Yeah,” Hanji sounds nearly dismissive, as if they've barely listened at all. “Wait here.” Then, more to themselves than to Levi: “Might work, it's dark and quiet, though with the open tunnels...”

Levi forces his restless irritation away, assuming for once that Hanji has a reason to act like a scatterbrain once again; they knew what was going to happen, so they must be familiar with what comes after. As much as he wants to, snapping will do no good.

Shit, it's exhausting to actually work together with people instead of splitting tasks, like he did with Erwin.

Erwin, who seems to have a death switch in a truer sense of the word than Levi.

“Doctor,” he stresses the word carefully. “What's next?”

“Snap him out of it,” Hanji replies. Going by their distraught tone, they're still internally fumbling with their thoughts, but at least they react coherently. “Don't know how much you've seen, but it can't have been pretty. This... trigger hasn't been perfected, as you might have guessed by the relatively simple code, though I can't claim I've had a lot of experience reverting it. So.” They set down their backpack and square their shoulders, a show of bravado they can't actually feel. “Gonna go now. Stay here. If I'm not back within half an hour, take what you need from my stuff and run.”

Hanji doesn't need to spell out what they expect to happen to themselves by then. Levi tugs down the bandana and snorts, putting on a show of disinterest he doesn't feel, either. “What about your body, sawbones?”

“Pretty buried down here, don't worry, laddie.” He can hear their strained grin in their voice.

“Not gonna let you die.” Not after all he's done to assure the doctor survives. Which hasn't been that much, yet he himself does not want them to die. Easy way out and all that.

“Much appreciated.” Hanji's voice is actually tinged a little warmer beneath the sober tone. “And I honestly don't know who'd win if you fought a vault soldier at full blast. But at least one of you would die. Not worth it.”

They clumsily pat Levi's shoulder in the dark, then march into the duct with as much grace as someone can who sees nearly nothing and therefore can't watch out for tripping hazards.

It's not like Levi to place the judgment of others above his own, not even when they're as bright as Hanji. However, since they have an advantage in experience here, he might give them time... Five minutes. Maximum of ten. He cleans his face and hair the best he can with the bandana as a rag and waits.

It proves an impossibly long while if you are trying not to think about the things Hanji said. What they mean. Levi gives up after two minutes and sneaks closer into the direction Hanji has gone. Just... to listen, he's skilled enough to hide himself.

Because underneath the fear and the worry, Levi feels the morbid curiosity that must drive those around him as well for the first time.  _You are sick, but others are, too._

Hanji's low murmur slowly drifts into his ears, and Levi pauses to hear it. He can't make out words yet, only that it's quiet, monotonous. Hypnotizing. The doctor has tried that with Levi as well, quickly given it up again, but explained that it heightens the susceptibility to outside influence.

There is no reply from Erwin. No sound at all.

“... safe. The darkness is safe. You remember that. You remember the drills. If you close your eyes, you will see it. Close them. Answer me if you closed them.”

No answer. The duct twists, and Levi presses his back against the stone wall to look while giving away as little of his outline as possible.

He can see Erwin, although he as to strain his eyes. It's a relief at first: the body that crouches on a crate, the highest position possible, seems alright so far.

But it's not. Levi senses it, the way he would instinctively know that the motionless, bumpy shape among scattered trash is a feral ghoul and will leap up to attack if something living comes close. That  _thing_ is not actually listening to Hanji, it's trying to locate them by their voice. The body has taken damage in the fight, the hearing is probably still off, and it's careful. Not a wild beast. A cunning monster.

“You are Erwin Smith,” Hanji continues with admirable calm. “I know that. I have been by your side when you told me. You did not die. You did not want to die.” They exhale deeply. “Come on, Erwin. Mike is here.”

Levi has heard that name before, although now that he thinks about it, Uri and rarely Moblit are the only ones who mentioned him. The soles of his boot lightly scrapes across a pebble as he moves forward.

Erwin turns his head. If he hadn't processed Hanji's words, he might not have, because he'd stay focused on the close prey. But Hanji has said someone is here, and he has heard someone, so-

Erwin's breathing picks up. Hanji takes another deep breath. “I know,” they say. “I know it hurts. It always will, but we can't close our minds. You will miss so much if you do.” They seem to force themselves to exhale again. There is a slight hitch, nothing more. “Come on,” they repeat.

Whatever intention has been behind that order, Erwin's body coils up tighter as he vomits – it hits the brick floor with a wet sound, following by painfully strong retching.

It's a pleasantly normal reaction if your mouth has remains of blood and tissue in it, not to mention the memory how it got there, and it renders you unable to attack. Levi has never been so glad to see anyone puke out their guts.

Hanji fumbles some sort of electronic pit light out of their backpack and turns it on, the sudden greenish brightness trembles with the hand holding it. Levi blinks, his eyes struggle for a moment before adapting – everyone else needs more time, but he sees that Hanji hasn't been holding a weapon. About three yards away from Erwin, it would have been easy for him to kill them. They must have known.

Hanji doesn't look up when Levi comes closer, and judging by their jerky movements as they dig through their backpack, they need to compose themselves first – fine by him, Levi has had enough crying for a year. Longer than that. A fucking lifetime.

Goddamn, his knees are squishy as fuck. This is shitty timing for the shock to ease.

Erwin doesn't immediately lift his head when Levi approaches him, mostly because he's still busy coughing and spitting in convulsive, painful hacks. His entire front is more or less covered in dried blood, bruises are forming everywhere beneath that, and the smoke has coated him in something gray and greasy.

Levi has never been happier to see him so disgustingly filthy.

Erwin glances at him: his eyes are wide and dull, reeling with shock. Levi can't tell whether it stems from the memory of his barbaric killing or the vault soldier mode, and really, it doesn't matter. Not the filth, not the past hour. It doesn't even matter if Erwin might throw up again once Levi moves into his spitting range.

He does avoid stepping into the mess on the ground, though.

Levi reaches out, laying his hands against the sides of Erwin's head; he means to pretend checking for injuries, because the blond hair is mottled with blood, but his fingers never reach there as Erwin slowly lets his forehead sink against his sternum.

It could be a wave of dizziness or fatigue – or a cautious way of asking. Levi doesn't put it past the clever bastard.

Not like he needs to know. Not like he cares.

He lets Erwin rest there, moves a foot back to broaden his stance as more weight leans onto him. It's only when Hanji's busy rustling quiets down that he gently pushes him back, reminding himself that they can't linger.

“I'll treat what I can, then get your stuff while you recover. Pretty sure I know where it is. Then we're off.” Hanji steps closer and curtly motions for Erwin to remain on the crate, but move into a sitting position. Judging by the quiet hiss that accompanies the change of posture, it hurts plenty, and Levi glances at the ribcage. There is an assortment of strange bumps under the layer of curdled blood, possibly fractures.

Hanji hasn't asked Levi to leave and keep watch, although he should do the latter – still, there is a strange unwillingness to go. He shuffles an awkward step backwards to give Hanji room and feels Erwin's eyes focus on him immediately.

They are haunted.

“Do you want to know?” Erwin's voice is all gravel with a bit of acid. He must have taken a blow to the throat during a fight, and Hanji touches his neck with a frown before drawing some liquid from their set into a syringe.

Erwin's voice has that strained note that isn't just his exhaustion, hinting quite clearly that he means his past. And although he doesn't sound like his usual self, it's not as halting and obviously difficult as mentioning that part of his life usually is.

Levi is tempted to say yes. He deserves those answers, and more importantly, they concern him to a degree. Especially if situations like these are to be avoided in the future. And why should he be the only one so transparent?

However, he has never seen Erwin quite so... fragile. As if there is a hair crack running through all of him. Opening himself might not tear it further, and even so, he's  _agreed_ to it, he even wants it, that pain is like making up for what he causes others.

Levi considers that an unhealthy cycle. He wants to know, but he doesn't want more pain. Not until there's a breather to be had.

“Save your breath, your wheezing's gonna give us away.”

“It might not be possible later,” Erwin warns him as Hanji pierces the syringe into the artery behind his clavicle, yet it's a weak protest. Levi can practically feel the relief as he shrugs. “Then try hard, blondie.”

The corners of Erwin's mouth twitch slightly before he redirects his energy at remaining mostly still during Hanji's treatment. The doctor does what they can, cleaning the blood off and disinfecting open wounds, injecting fluids that probably ease the healing, but even they can't mend broken bones on the spot or scan for internal injuries. Eventually, they step back and push up their glasses.

“That'll have to do for now. I'll get your stuff.”

They lift their backpack and venture back towards the ladder, taking their pit light with them. It leaves Levi and Erwin in darkness, and although Levi's eyes adapt to the shred of light from the mushrooms, he doesn't squint to see.

“I'll fucking kill you once you're healed up.”

Erwin answers with a drowsy hum, likely from the painkillers Hanji has given him before bandaging his ribcage. “So you'll be around then.”

Levi huffs. “Didn't say so.”

“Please.”

Strange how Erwin finds it easier to say those simple things in the dark. Then again, not being seen has that effect on many people – only that Levi  _sees_ , and everyone keeps forgetting. He leaves the illusion intact.

“Gonna cost you more than some sweet talk.”

“I wasn't trying to lower your guerdon.”

“And what the hell is that even?”

Erwin chuckles quietly, though it must hurt. “You were really there, weren't you? In the pit. I thought I had imagined you.”

It's an odd feeling to have someone tell him that they have thought of him in the face of death, that reality and fantasy have become hard to separate. It says... a lot. Levi feels like he should be saying something as well, but this is not the time... And he  _has_ time, damn it. He doesn't have to hit and run.

They sit in silence, exhausted and immersed. Eventually, the glow of Hanji's pit light returns, and they drag a bundle of equipment along. They even smile as they help Erwin into his clothing, remarking that they are burning up their bedside manner for the next ten years, give or take.

Levi smells the fresh blood on them the second they come closer.

He says nothing as Erwin dresses and Hanji checks him over once more. It may seem like politeness when he stares into the dark duct the moment Hanji carefully embraces Erwin, stiff but gentle. The way a friend does it. Erwin returns it in kind, like it lifts a weight off him.

Levi doesn't need to ask whether Hanji has killed the bookmaker. He doesn't even need to ask why. There must be no traces from the influenced synth, no way to check the synth component. Another grim task that explains why Hanji has taken their backpack with them.

“This is no good place to talk, but we should split up again.” The doctor sounds somber and calm when they propose this. Erwin doesn't even pause as he digs out toothpaste and a brush to get rid of _remains_ in his mouth. Another very sensible thing to do, he must be coming back to his senses.

It also prevents him from speaking, and Hanji doesn't wait for him to finish cleaning. “I'll go back into the city and take a detour around Ticonderoga, and you'll...”, they shrug, “do the usual routine, I guess? You need to rest up.”

Erwin spits out a grimy clump that mercifully disappears in the darkness behind the crate, then nods – to Levi's surprise, who's more reluctant to leave Hanji. They're just human, after all, and not on top of their form.

“Moblit wants you dragged back,” Levi grumbles, the most considerate way he can offer his protection; he might as well, although it means parting ways with Erwin again.

Hanji simply shakes their head. “I'll go alone. It's a precaution, but I can't be seen with you... You were right, someone might have sold us out.”

While Levi did say that a while ago, it was more a barb than an actual suspicion, meant to strike their high-and-mighty attitude – he's surprised that Hanji brings it up again, and even more so when Erwin spits out again and nods grimly. “Recently, I think.”

How someone can be so casually accepting of that, Levi doesn't know, but the world doesn't teach trust anymore. It seems wiser to concentrate on the immediate problems, and there are enough. “Not like it's a blast to be seen with me nowadays.”

“Right,” Hanji snorts and adds at Erwin's questioning glance: “The Gunners put one hell of a bounty on short stuff's head, so you both gotta lay low. That a problem?”

Perhaps it's the fucked-out haze between painkillers and being alive when you really shouldn't be, but Erwin barely seems to mind the news – although they will make life a lot more complicated for the next months, possibly even longer. “No.”

Hanji shows the shadow of a grin, then steps up to Levi to give him a comradely pat on the shoulder. “If I never see you again, I'll find comfort in the memory of messing up your hair and face.”

And he has  _just_ managed to forget about that greasy filth for a moment. “Lemme break your legs for that next time.” He gives them a gruff once-over. “Sure you'll be okay on your own?”

Hanji scratches their scalp, either giving it some sort or merely pretending. “Lived in Goodneighbor for a while, sweetness. But I'll admit that it's the sewers that make the travel a whole lot easier for me.” Still slow by Levi's standards, yet quick by those of a human, they pull him into a brief, one-armed hug and offer him a cheeky grin. “Have a nice honeymoon,” they whisper while they're close. “Trust me, doesn't get better.”

There has to be some joke again that he doesn't get, and Levi is mostly preoccupied with enduring physical contact with the doctor. It's not as disgusting as he'd expect, but it feels strange nonetheless. People who leave you are lost, neither dead or alive. With Hanji, he's mostly convinced they'll stay alive, which is odd because he doesn't ensure it himself. He has begun trusting them and can't find a reason.

“What sort of chems do you swallow for the moon to turn into that goo,” he mutters instead, concealing discomfort under a moderately dumb remark.

Hanji snorts and shoulders their backpack. “I wonder,” they mumble and wave a short goodbye. Their demeanor has changed since they decided to give Levi the code, as if crossing that line has made everything easier. Fatalistically so. He's not sure whether it's a good thing and looks at Erwin for a second opinion from someone who knows the doctor better.

“Is that guy gonna be okay?”

Erwin seems to wonder about that himself, but eventually shrugs carefully. “The problem is that Hanji's right,” he says with a slight hitch in his voice, likely because a too deep breath has strained the bandages.

Admittedly, and it seems like the doctor has their own agenda. Levi grudgingly presumes that it doesn't follow the same goal of creating superhumans like Project Leviathan, but he'd be an idiot to think that Hanji doesn't want to solve the enigma of that mysterious individual Ackerman. Or that nobody will be harmed in the process.

Though that's how the wheel spins in the wastelands. Levi himself is no different. He glances at Erwin and watches him get up with a critical eye. “Need a shoulder?”

They both have their pride, but they also really need to get moving by now. Levi is not surprised either when Erwin shakes his head and slings the hunting rifle he has apparently taken to arouse no suspicion from Moblit over his back.

“Just need a few breaks on the way.”

Where to, Levi doesn't ask.

 

What he really wants to ask is:  _Why?_

Why run out here and risk so much, even considering that Erwin has probably underestimated the danger in the New Combat Zone? There is no gain. Because yes, what Fahrenheit reported about her men does sound worrying, but those mysteries aren't solved in an arena.

Eventually, Levi doesn't ask. Not because he doesn't want to know, but because he feels like he's missing something and he could figure it out, and he's just so tired of having things explained to him.

So he settles for something else, seemingly easier.

“Who's Mike?”

The sewers drag on. Erwin seems to know where they're going, and they haven't run into trouble so far. His limp is worse, and he's obviously in pain, but at least that's familiar. Aches and strains are something Levi can understand, although he wonders how long Erwin will take to heal. Being a human and all.

Erwin reacts little to the name that seemed to play a significant part in  _snapping him out of it_ , as Hanji referred to it. He seems focused on setting his feet right and keeping his orientation, but he doesn't ignore the question.

“A former Gunner. A... good man.” There is a tiny pause for breath or perhaps for thoughts. “A good friend,” he adds quietly. “He's dead.”

Being friends with a Gunner, even a former one, sounds contradicting in itself, but stranger things have happened, and Levi isn't going to judge a dead man. It doesn't take great skill either to deduce that Mike is probably the man Hanji spoke of before going into the New Combat Zone, and that he left a lingering impression on the doctor, too.

If Erwin is responsible for the death of their sweetheart of some sorts, it's not surprising they hold a grudge. Levi doesn't press, mindful that Mike is occasionally mentioned and therefore remembered by everyone except those two.

“We traveled,” Erwin continues slowly, like he's phrasing a very old, nearly forgotten memory. Between exertion, painkillers and old scars, an actual lack of memory is the least likely explanation.

“I told him what I could. It took work, but Mike was convinced the barriers could be... worn down. Since they weren't complete in the first place.” Erwin glances at Levi at that, cynical amusement in his blue eyes. “The code is rather simple, you've noticed.”

Levi shrugs, unsure what he could say to that; he's decided to give Erwin some time until they bring that up, and he intends to keep it that way.

The next intercept in the sewers gives an opportunity for a break in moldy air and unpleasant, putrid warmth. Erwin looks pale in the weak glow from his flashlight and swallows dryly. He doesn't stray from his route, however, at least as far as Levi can tell, so he's as adamant as ever.

“We drew the wrong kind of attention,” Erwin eventually goes on, “Mike's old squadron, I think, but it doesn't matter. Got trapped in an ambush because we weren't careful enough.” He briefly closes his eyes. His voice is clear, the slight tremble comes from his physical state. Levi merely senses the pain somewhere, and he refrains from reaching out. He can't offer comfort until he has an idea of what's happened, because it would be empty otherwise.

“There were nine of them. We were outnumbered, but with the code... If Mike had used it, we might have escaped. Or he might, at least, in the turmoil. On the other hand, if I hadn't succeeded in killing all of them, the code would have been leaked. I would not have been free until my death.”

So Mike has bitten the bullet, quite literally. Maybe the Gunners would have killed a traitor anyway, make an example out of him, yet maybe they  _wouldn't_ . Especially not with a living compensation present. Mike could have saved his neck, and he had chosen not to, and that apparently with a sort of nonchalance that did nothing to ease the guilt. Erwin had not been crushed by it, but it clearly dragged at him.

With every step.

“You injured your leg back then.” Levi carefully measures his voice, neutral and low. He has never been good with putting feelings into his vocal chords. There has never been a need to.

Erwin nods curtly. “Two days afterwards. The Gunners sometimes take prisoners, as you know. Escaping was possible, but the fortifications... I had a tracker on me, so Hanji found me on time. Just me.”

The last part holds a bit of an old sting, and for a moment Levi can imagine it: the rush, the fear, and eventually having to realize that the rescue will only be possible for one person. And that it is not the person you have deep down been hoping for.

Levi says nothing. He finds that he can't offer consolation, and he hates to spew empty words. Perhaps they will come to him later; perhaps they won't. He has... quite a bit to say, later on.

But again, not in a stinking sewer. He has all the fucking time in the world.

 

It feels like the sewer pipes lead on forever through ankle-deep water and soggy moss, until Levi think he tastes the thick mold on his tongue and he silently thanks Moblit for upgrading his boots: at least his feet are relatively dry. He's chilled and weariness begins to settle in, but Erwin seems to know exactly where he's going, his lips move with the turns of the sewer labyrinth, and Levi knows better than to disturb his concentration.

Then, finally, there is a whiff of fresh air and the gurgle of flowing water, both begin to replace the smell of must and the monotonous thumping of boots on old steel, and it relaxes Levi in a nearly physical way when the blue sky opens above him again. Straightening up eventually does a lot to support that impression.

The sewer pipe opens into a valley plain, the dirty rivulet has been carefully sealed off from flowing into the stream, which seems relatively clean and gurgles cheerfully over smooth pebbles. Mutated fern covers the outlet as a herbal disguise, giving off the typical soapy scent as Levi lands in it by jumping out from the pipe. He immediately glances around, his eyes revel in the broad sight of the clear afternoon after the narrow pipe.

There is a single house in the valley plain, red bricks in the sun with laundry flapping on a clothesline, surrounded by neat crop fields and a wide meadow with cattle. It's a peaceful sight, like a little sanctuary in an idyll.

Naturally, Levi doesn't trust it. Casting a dubious look in Erwin's direction, he sees that the other man has climbed from the pipe as well and has pressed a hand again his side, as if breathing hurts him. Having cracked his ribs before, Levi knows it does, but neither of them usually displays pain. He huffs, furrowing his brows at the holdup.

“You look like you're gonna spill your guts any minute.”

That moment, something left of Levi rustles – he yanks his shotgun out and points at the spot in the fern, briefly finds a glimpse of a wide, bright eye before it vanishes again, followed by the swishing of leaves: Levi can follow the course with his eyes, yet he doesn't see the person, they hide too well among the fern.

Erwin has raised his hand to push the shotgun down, appearing unconcerned, calmer than before. Which would explain why the pain has kicked in now, after the adrenaline has worn off.

“That scared her.”

Levi frowns and lowers the weapon, but doesn't put it back into the holster; his eyes still watch the valley, even though the steps have disappeared – they're in the open, he doesn't like that. “Was that even a person?”

If so, Levi is just a tad bit impressed at someone maneuvering so quickly and mostly quietly through the underbrush. He still could have shot them, probably, but Erwin doesn't seem wary, and if this is the place to crash for a while, it would be bad manners to shoot the watchdog first.

“A child, actually.” Erwin continues his path into the valley at an unhurried pace, setting his feet carefully as to not slip on loose rubble or wet earth. Levi follows eventually, still eyeing the all too peaceful house with distrust.

“Who's down there?”

When he asks, Levi doesn't quite expect an answer because Erwin is notoriously stingy with those, so it's a moderate surprise to hear him reply: “Former brother. Some just scattered and settled down.”

He calls them brothers like it's something that can change over time, and Levi wonders whether that means anything: the concept of siblings is alien to him, and he feels foolish to ask.

A man has appeared seemingly out of nowhere, probably through expert use of dips in the landscape, and jogs uphill towards them at an even speed; physical fitness, smooth movements, the same level of skill. Erwin stops to wait for him (or to take a break, subtly) and as soon as the man gets closer, Levi recognizes the similarities between them even stronger: the tall built, the perfect proportions without skin abnormalities, the bright, pale eyes. This man's hair is black, a thin beard covers his chin and upper lip, a broad smile unveils white and symmetric teeth.

“Just when I thought you were dead this time!” he exclaims and crosses the last bit of way with quick steps to clamp Erwin into an one-armed, brisk embrace. His body-language speaks of stress, though, and his mien is too terse to say whether this is unnormal.

Erwin returns the gesture of affection stiffly, and again, there's no telling whether he's simply in pain or bridles against being touched. Levi looks away for no special reason. Maybe he doesn't want to analyze that relationship, it's somewhat uncomfortable to witness that.

Erwin isn't like him – he has a few someones, somewhere. Levi has been completely on his own for years, and his lack of close human contact hasn't been a problem; only since he's realized that everyone else can't stand being so isolated, he's been forced to acknowledge how different he is from them.

For a moment, he finds himself missing Uri's gentle voice. The old asshole has been able to soothe the sting a little.

Looking the other way, Levi catches a movement in the fern again, and flips it off out of sheer obstinacy.

Eyes that are light brown and sharp move to Levi as if guessing his thoughts, and he finds he's been appraised in the same way by the man who's long let Erwin go and now frowns at Levi. He's got a gun holstered and a wooden whistle around his neck, probably to call a trained dog.

“So who's he?”

Irritatingly enough, he doesn't address Levi – he glances at Erwin for the answer. Who, in turn, looks at Levi first before replying evenly: “Friend of mine.”

He doesn't give a name, and considering there's a bounty connected to that name, Levi is quite okay with that. He returns the man's doubtful stare with an arrogant twitch of his brows. “Don't mind me.”

He senses some sort of irritation in the way the man strokes his beard, seemingly a habitual move of calming his nerves. “Fine. I'm Nile.”

He doesn't offer a handshake, and Levi doesn't want one. Instead, Nile seems to intend taking Levi up on the offer of ignoring him and turns to Erwin again, putting his hands on his hips. “Are you sick or something? Where's your doctor?”

Erwin smiles an elusive little smile, one that Levi has occasionally seen him put on for nosy caravan traders or guards. It's a polite nothing, a gentle, yet somewhat dismissive rejection. “How is the family?”

Nile's own smile is a little tight, but he pats his side and sighs as the fern rustles again. “Good. Harriet, what kind of observation point is that? Come say hello.”

A scrawny brat emerges from the fern, twigs in her nearly felted braids and dirt on her scraped knees. Levi recognizes the shape and color of her eyes: she has been circling them, no doubt she would have acted differently if Nile hadn't given the all-clear, and there have probably been some signal words in his statement that declare everything to be indeed alright.

Sanctuaries like this one come with a price of caution.

The girl watches them with a dead serious expression – Levi doesn't know shit about kids, but he judges her to be around seven or eight years old. As far as he can see, she is armed with a long, sheathed knife and carries herself with the same sleek vigilance as Nile, which is moderately impressive for someone her age.

Not surprising that Nile would teach his child to survive.

Erwin eyes Harriet with a hint of doubt, as if he's wondering whether this is the same kid as before; Levi doesn't ask how long it's been since his last visit here, but she must have been smaller then. That, and Erwin has never appeared to be too fond of children.

Levi isn't, either, though this one at least isn't leaking from some orifice of her body, which brats always seem to do. He gives her a nod and sees her practically grow a few inches before she wordlessly darts into the valley. Presumably to announce their arrival.

Levi has no idea what awaits them, and he's not overly curious about Nile's home – there might be hot water to be had, though, and  _that_ is an allure even Nile's stare is powerless against.

He's also probably entering the dream of many wasteland survivors.

 

The house looks rather sturdy: no leaky roof, neat garden and more fields around it. Proper water pumps. A rattling generator just far enough not to annoy every inhabitant. A trained watchdog with a little shed. For some reason, Levi feels like there should be a white picket fence, although he has no clue what that could be useful for.

And of course, there is the missus, dividing her attention between a messy toddler and a pot of chopped potatoes. She waves at them as they get closer, and without a close look, her strong arms and shoulders can be ignored as easily as the white, gnarled scars along her collar.

The same posture again: a former soldier, tall and pretty and bright-eyed as if created from an open mold. The only thing that gives her away are the scars, along with the fact that although she greets the guests, no sound comes from her mouth.

She sits the squirming toddler against her hip to offer a handshake – Levi isn't rude enough to ignore it, even when her fingers are sticky from potato juice and... something toddler-produced, possibly. Her palm is hardened by callouses, more farm work than shooting, and she has a healthy tan.

“This is Marie,” Nile says, although Levi still feels like he addresses the air above his head when introducing her. “She doesn't speak, but you'll understand when she talks to you.”

Marie gives a toothy grin and then proceeds to hug Erwin, who seems almost comically concerned about the toddler getting crushed or at least maimed in the process.

For someone who suddenly turns up injured at his brother's home and has apparently been gone for a while, there seems to be... oddly little need to talk. Nile has tried, but accepted Erwin's refusal to elaborate, and now they act like they are simple house guests. To Levi, that accepting, tense silence it feels even weirder than the Junktown with all its restlessness.

Marie readjusts the unreasonable toddler, then gestures at the roof of the house and raises her eyebrows.

“The spare room?” Erwin's voice is flat and calm; Levi hears his forced patience and guesses that he must be _really_ tired. “You converted it?”

Marie shakes her head and looks questioningly at Levi, then briefly rotates her wrist as if to encourage him to speak.

Contrary to what Nile has claimed, he doesn't understand her. And Nile doesn't seem keen on helping out.

“Don't mind me,” he eventually repeats, feeling awkward for the whole ordeal. Hospitality is new and strange, at least the Junktown hasn't pretended that he's a guest. And there haven't been any children, just adults and... well, robots.

Marie grins and waves, the toddler grows interested and tries to grab her fingers in the process.

Erwin glances at Levi. “Do you mind one room? The attic now contains...” “Additional storeroom,” Nile supplies.

Well. He's certainly not used to that kind of extravagant problem. Just because he senses that it pisses Nile off, Levi shrugs and replies with a hint of smugness: “Okay.” And while he's at it, he's dying to wash himself. “Got any clean water?”

Marie nods and gestures for him to follow while Nile opens the door to lead Erwin inside. Harriet has appeared out of nowhere to take the toddler – her sibling, probably – and sits down to finish Marie's work. Her eyes are wide with careful curiosity, and Levi wonders whether she gets to see many strangers.

Doesn't seem like it. This place is secluded, like it wants nothing to do with the world.

The house has a rather nice bathroom for a world where supplies of running water and proper sewers have long been destroyed. There seems to be some system of running water, though: if Nile and Marie have the same education as Erwin, they might be able to built and maintain it.

Marie lets clear water flow into an old ceramic tub, then eyes Levi calmly before pointing at the shotgun Moblit modified for him and mimics removing the shells.

“Empty,” Levi answers, but hands her the shotgun. He doesn't explain that the gun can take other kinds of ammunition, though, and Marie briefly examines it, then gives it back with a satisfied nod – only to point at his dagger.

Trust doesn't pay off, and she has children to take care of; foolish little things that hurt themselves even without malicious intent. Levi gets that much. However, he's reluctant to give the knife away when he has...

No, he has nobody to take care of. Levi passes the sheathed dagger to Marie, who gives a wheezy little whistle as she recognizes the material and winks at him. Levi isn't quite sure what she makes of that, but she leaves him with a soap bar and a coarse scrubbing brush before turning the water off. She takes the dagger with her, probably to place it somewhere safe; this doesn't look like a home that desperately needs sharp objects.

It needs... oddly little. It must have taken years to collect, trade and build furniture and gadgets. As nice as having running water is, Levi finds it hard to imagine being satisfied with that.

Then again, so is the whole idea of settling down with someone and raising kids; Levi has never  _been_ a kid.

Washing the black grease from his head and throat takes annoyingly long (he'll have to punch Hanji for that after all), and when Levi is still busy rubbing it out his scalp, the smell of soot and sweat gives way to something soapy and earthy that doesn't come from the soap bar. The smell of mutated fern.

And she has been so quiet... Little shit probably knows exactly which floorboard creaks and where blind spots cover, only to forget about every other sense. Levi grunts impatiently and drags a hand through his hair again. “Get lost.”

A tiny wooden squeak, the scent shifts, but doesn't disappear. Levi waits for a few seconds while pushing his wet hair back and glaring around before settling his eyes onto a far corner of the bathroom.

“What?”

At her age, Harriet probably isn't interested in men, and his scars can't be that fascinating either – her mother's throat has been seared with hot steam or acid or both, and they all wear weapons, so she must know violence exists.

The scent silently retreats without a form of reply. Levi scoffs and finishes washing – he doesn't understand brats, he's also pretty sure he never will. For now, he's glad to be rid of the arena's stench.

Although as soon as he puts his clothes back on and allows himself a moment of relaxation, the madness, the screaming and the drums are right back inside his head, waiting patiently for him. All of it, the bookmaker, the pit, the code, all of it is complicated and twisted and... fearsome. Levi isn't easily scared, but he knows that this feeling exists for a reason and has never vanished by simply ignoring it.

So yes, what has happened since leaving the Junktown scares him.

He drapes his coat over his arm to air it out and leaves the bathroom after rinsing the remains of black paint from the tub. He hears Marie rummage around somewhere in the house and follows the noise without looking sideways more than he deems necessary to memorize the outline. Somehow, the Junktown with its beeping, mysterious machines has been more comfortable because it's not actually  _living space_ , and here it's like constantly stomping through someone's privacy. The valley is a good hideout while their trail cools, but Levi will be glad when they leave.

Marie pokes her head into the hallway and takes the wet, dirty towel from him. Harriet is nowhere in sight, and Levi makes a mental note of checking corners for her before climbing up the ladder to the attic. Smalltalk has never appealed to him, and the less these people know about him, the better for their peaceful lives.

The attic is... nice. Open enough not to feel caged and smelling of something sweetish like dry silage, probably for the cattle. There is no glass, only open windows that can be covered with rusty iron panels, although the weather is balmy and the draft welcome. More stored goods are piled up or hang from the pitch of the roof, an old mattress has been placed in one corner, a bedroll in the other. Polite distance for two strangers.

Erwin is sitting on the mattress with his back leaning against the ramp, he opens his eyes as soon as Levi climbs up and closes the hatch again; judging by the immediate reaction, he hasn't been sleeping, even when he must be tired. Levi raises an eyebrow at him and proceeds to hang up his coat.

“Can't sleep?”

He doesn't feel like he could, either.

“Not yet.” Erwin makes a vague, circular motion towards his temple. “It... resets when I sleep.”

Levi grunts and inspects a crate that contains dried corncobs and is irrelevant as fuck to him, but he doesn't intend to look at the other man when he remarks: “Sure felt like that for me, too.”

The dreams, the illusion – or was it real? - of Ackerman talking to him, the whole impression of being someone else as well, it has been strong with exhaustion. That doesn't mean it can't be true, the voice and all that, only that it seemed... necessary to be weary to hear it.

Sighing, Levi sits down on the crate, letting his feet dangle from it as he eyes Erwin expectantly. The afternoon glow paints the attic bright and warm, the breeze carries the smell of earth and faint smoke.

Peaceful. Time to bring up memories of war, then.

“Sawbones said you're from a vault,” he says, wondering whether this makes anything easier or instead harder for Erwin. Anyway, it's already out. “Some soldier program with barriers in your head to keep you from thinking shit.”

“That part actually came later,” Erwin sounds unperturbed, but he _is_ the more diplomatic one. Not that it's hard with Levi as competition. “Before that, it was just growing up to become soldiers.” He briefly gestures downward, to the other rooms. “You've probably guessed that Nile and Marie are from the same vault. Vault 75.”

_I AM 75._

Levi bangs a heel against the crate. “They really your siblings?”

Any distraction is alright, and at least the grimness around Erwin's mouth lifts for a moment. “I don't think so. I can't prove it, though. We were born in the same year and raised together, without parents. We had instructors to care for us. Train us. Harden us.”

He opens and closes his fist, then adds casually: “Bones that are broken at critical points grow together sturdier than before. Sicknesses are less grave once you have survived them at a young age.”

Something in his words makes the sunny attic feel cold and stifling. Levi ensures that his voice is neutral when he raises it. “Did that a lot, didn't they?”

“Yes.” Erwin's lips twitch into something humorless and dry. “It was for a purpose, you see. It was...” He frowns, concentrating as if he is translating the words from a very different, complicated language. “... For Uptopland. The surface world that we had never seen, but were told about. That it was a terrible place full of monsters and cannibals where the dwindling human population is hiding in fear. When the vault finally opened, we would go there. Save them. Bring... glory to them.”

“You mean conquer,” Levi supplies, more acidly than he means to; if you feed that bullshit to kids, of course they believe it. Especially when they've never _seen_ that proclaimed hell.

“Indeed.” Erwin carefully shifts his weight and grimaces when several of his injuries disagree with the movement. “We were trained to endure and to fight, make up for our lack of experience with sheer power and determination. And because we never got to see the entire vault, we didn't wonder why there were no grown women, just the girls and the male instructors. The Overseer didn't allow questions, either. Days consisted of drill and education.”

Erwin is staring into something only he can see, and it feels like he's doing it on purpose: concentrating on speaking, but also avoiding looking at Levi and his reaction.

“One day, Nile and I snuck into an old storeroom. If we had been caught... It does not matter. We found a radio there, it must have belonged to one of the instructors. Strictly forbidden, of course, and not working. But Nile managed to repair it. We searched everywhere for a place where we'd have at least a bit reception and wouldn't be found, and we were lucky.” Erwin clears his throat, maybe from talking for so long. Maybe not. “There was a radio program. Which made no sense to us, when all we expected to hear were desperate distress signals – instead there was music.”

He says it so blandly that it doesn't capture the utter wonder he must have felt, and Levi can't imagine it, either; none of it, actually. The place Erwin comes from is alien and cold. He describes something terrible with the soberness of someone who hasn't known anything else.

“There was even a host on the radio. Passing warnings for certain roads and radiation storms, but also... general news. Gossip. Stories. The life that Uptopland was not supposed to have, nor the technical equipment or even the spirit. We realized that something didn't make sense... And it was unlikely that the lies came from something we were never supposed to have.”

It's the first time Erwin falls quiet for minutes. Levi lets him, although he grows restless when it seems like Erwin won't continue at all. As if he's gingerly reaching out for a bandage that covers a festering wound, shying away from pulling it away.

“Nile didn't believe it. I couldn't let it go. So I turned to one of the instructors.” His eyes close, thin blue veins and violet shadows beneath them all too clearly in his abused face. “They were all brutally strict. Some sadistically so. Instructor Smith was the only one I trusted enough. He was... a bit more patient. His beating weren't as hard.” He says it like beatings are a natural occurrence between adult and child, when even Levi, who has never _been_ a child, knows it's not. Nile doesn't seem to automatically beat his children out of habit.

“He asked me whether I wanted to become the next Overseer; because apparently I was promising for the highest position in the vault. I would have to forget the radio and continue if I did. I couldn't.” When Erwin's eyes open, they are more pained than Levi has ever seen him. Perhaps more than anyone. It dries up his throat and twists his insides, yet he remains where he is. He doesn't come closer; he doesn't offer comfort. Again, not before he even understands.

“When I told him so, he cried.” The tremor in Erwin's voice is there, slight and chipped. “Then he began to train me for the world as it really was. He was wise... Unveiling the whole structure of the vault immediately would have rendered me unable to keep up my facade during the normal daily routine. Instead he taught me what he knew and let me draw my conclusions. Like that the girls were not trained as soldiers... Their sole purpose was to prove they had valuable qualities to pass on, then receive a number of matching candidates, then produce. Afterwards, they were executed. They called it the 'harvest'. Death to those who failed their tests or grew too old to be of use. The system had been in action since the Great War.”

Even Levi feels sick – most of what Erwin tells him is beyond his imagination, and he's glad for it, but even the bit he can relate to is... abhorrent. He closes himself off from it; it's the first instinct everyone learns here, forces himself to listen to the rest of it like it's a horror story. Like those tales of synths roaming the land and replacing people, for example.

He realizes that Erwin has taken up his 'story' again.

“... don't know whether he wanted to repent. I still think he was a good man, somewhere. He wanted it to stop. If I had become Overseer, we could have put an end to it, possibly before the next 'harvest'. But they noticed something.” Erwin makes a derisive sound that doesn't suit him, who's always composed, quiet. “Ironically, another instructor thought Smith and I were just _too_ close. He reported it to the Overseer. That man was not as easily fooled. He called me to his office and told me I would be sent to Uptopland – which frightened me, although I wasn't supposed to know it meant either death or an end to the plan. So I ran to the single person that could tell me what to make of it.”

He doesn't need to go on, not at this point. Levi can guess the outcome quite vividly, but Erwin is adamant about his confession. Not one to go back on his word, that much has already been clear.

“I betrayed him with that mindless flash of panic. Smith claimed it had been his idea, that he had merely chosen the best candidate to unwittingly carry it out, but it was not nearly enough to convince the Overseer. Something had to be done to make it seem at least plausible. So I took an instructor's bone hammer and smashed Smith's skull with it the moment he finished speaking.”

A fit of rage, ending in a bloody mess. Not a clean shot that might have been impersonal, instead an act of brutality. Levi sees the logic. Sees the need to react quickly in a situation of mortal danger.

Yet he understands why Erwin carries that man's name like a reminder.

“It was impressive,” the blond man continues, slowly and methodically, as if speaking hurts and he must be mindful to cause himself the minimum of damage doing it. “Not sufficient, but impressive. And the vault was pressed for time. If I disappeared, it would cause a stir. Cadets would ask questions, no matter how hard they beat them, and the whispers would not die down. And I was... a valuable recruit. They wanted my qualities passed on, and if possible, keep me as something usable. I think they were... proud of their creation.”

He glances at Levi, then makes a soft huffing sound at whatever he sees in his face. “As I said, the program had been in operation since the Great War. The ideals of that time were rather... grotesque. Appearance mattered. So they put the barricades in my head. Too early, I assume, the process was usually done after the 'harvest' and the beginning of puberty, and time was running, so there were probably some mistakes made. Or it never worked perfectly from the start, seeing as Smith...”

“Cut to the chase, old shitstain,” Levi snaps, his voice rougher than he'd like. His pulse is beating beneath his ribs, he's cold from not moving anything.

Erwin tilts his head slightly.

“The other male recruits received them, too, but it raised to mortality rate again, so the process was cut short. Mine was carried farther, I think. I don't remember much except the agony.” Again, he says it flatly, like it's a negligible detail. The amount of pain necessary to rewire some parts of the brain in short time must be...

“As soon as I was free, I was able to convince some recruits to revolt. Mostly those who were bright enough to understand what the radio broadcast meant, or those who felt sympathy or more towards the girls. We were younger, stronger, larger in number. But it took victims until the adults were dead and the vault was opened.”

It's hard to judge whether it's Levi's demand or open cynicism that allows Erwin to sound lapidary; like actual freedom doesn't mean much, not like the freedom of mind, the grief.

“There _is_ no disciplined force working on putting the Commonwealth back together, so you can guess that as soon as my brothers and sisters realized that they were superior to most people, they chose to make use of it. Some, like Nile and Marie, withdrew from it all. Some didn't. They became Gunners or worse. Some were crushed by the reality outside the vault and lost their mind. But all of them betrayed the purpose... To bring order to this world.” A soft, weary sigh, like Erwin is neither relieved nor sad, just tired from the memory, the disillusion. “I can't say that I don't understand how they think they deserve it. It is not right, though, we _don't_ deserve it. Smith died just to enable it, and it was wasted.”

Perfect soldiers, immediately falling out of formation once they are confronted with a huge world outside, so much bigger than their small, safe hell underground. It's close to comical. This probably happened before Levi was created or at least coherent, and still, the fucking irony of it all... 200 years of torture and that's the result? If it was anyone else's story, Levi would laugh.

However, it's Erwin's story, even when he has apparently accepted this end; the loss of faith that in the gentlest form turned out like this, the house in the valley with the children and the dog and a whole lot of empty land.

In Erwin's eyes, Nile and Marie are not actual traitors of the purpose, but they have neglected their duty and wasted their training. The tension, Erwin's reticence, another form of bitterness make sense. It all does, in a way, and Levi doesn't want to consider how their 'upbringing' makes Erwin and him alike, even if it's just a little.

“Do you believe me?”

Erwin's question startles him, Levi looks up from the dusty floorboards. Sometime during the dark confession, the sun has neared the horizon, and someone must have taken up cooking, because it smells like roasting corn and garlic. And above it all the attic, closed off from this homely comfort... or what most people would call it.

Again, Erwin acts like Levi might doubt him – which he hasn't done, not even in times when by all means, he  _should fucking have_ .

“Yeah.” Levi shrugs, albeit stiffly. “Fancy story, nobody would make that shit up.”

“I'm sorry.”

“For what exactly?” It comes out sharper than intended. Erwin's lips quirk weakly.

“The trouble I've caused you... I guess.”

“You _guess_.” Levi slams his heels against the crate with a wooden bang, but his voice and face are calm, neutral. “Then why did you do it? I'm curious now.”

Erwin can presumably detect the simmering anger behind his voice, if not in his words and the lack of insults. He takes his time, though, his teeth thoughtfully graze his lower lip and he winces when they bite into split skin. And he shifts, like he means to move and get up, but then he doesn't. His stern blue eyes roam the attic like it's suddenly of interest, and this time it's not a tactic to fool the barriers in his head.

“I thought... It was the only place connected to you, and when Fahrenheit hinted that it had been rebuilt for some purpose, it might have something to do with you. And then I thought.” His blond brows furrow, a closed expression of something coiled and twisted that he's struggling to unfurl. “I hoped, to be honest. If it had something to do with you, if I could bring it back to you, then you would consider... you would at least be willing to work with me for a while, possibly.”

It's all so tentative, so careful. It's burdened with 'ifs' and 'woulds' and phrased so overcautiously, the way Erwin doesn't talk, not even while planning. It makes it abundantly clear that it hasn't been simply about continued work, and that the effort it cost him has seemed worth it, if only...

“I hoped you might reconsider our personal relationship.”

It's still overblown like nothing good, but for something Erwin said, it's surprisingly to the point.

Levi eyes him dispassionately. “I ran across a fucking continent to that shitpool.”

“You could have done it for Hanji.”

“I didn't.” He might have, if it had been someone else the doctor pursued. This time, he did not need additional encouragement.

“I see.”

There is a second of motionlessness, then it becomes clear that this is as far as Levi goes. Because honestly, he deserves it.

Erwin is slow and careful as he rises, pain makes his movements stiff. Everything takes longer: until he has straightened, left the mattress, crossed the attic, stopped in front of the crate. Levi is gracious enough to lift his head and look at him, only mildly interested if he can pull it off. Sitting on the crate makes him even shorter than Erwin, which forces said man to bow even lower despite his cracked ribs. Vengeful little shit that he is.

When Erwin kisses him, it's just as slow and gentle as the movements before. Levi feels the scab of the split lip against his, tastes the hint of bitter peppermint that lingers since the bouts of brushing teeth. Apart from that, Erwin still smells of chemicals from the treatment and the foul water from the sewer pipes.

However, Levi is grateful they even get to kiss. It occurs to him that they didn't use to kiss like this; even after their relationship has intensified, kisses were only exchanged directly connected to sex. In-between, it would have been... strange, Levi can't remember wanting to, either. It hasn't been that kind of thing with them, the kind where kisses are something else than stimulation for fun, among other things.

They won't fuck now, though, and still Levi feels like he really wants this. His stomach does an odd flip when he reaches up to touch the messy blond hair at Erwin's temples, runs the backs of his fingers over the strong jaw. He grazes more than one bruise, but Erwin doesn't flinch. He remains leaned over in an awkward angle, head slightly tilted, hands lingering over Levi's shoulders without transferring any weight.

It's not very graceful. Not like they kiss for the first time, even. It's... warm. Soft, actually. Soft all over.

Until Erwin's bruised body decides it has had enough and there is an angry toddler outside, yelling on top of its small lungs. Levi feels the hitch in Erwin's breath as some injury produces more pain than before and huffs quietly against his lips.

“Get some rest, old bastard,” he clips, “'m still gonna be around later.”

“Sure?” Erwin carefully straightens again, though this time, his question is casual, not dead serious.

Levi gets up from the crate as well, lightly pushing Erwin away to gain room to stand. “Yeah,” he huffs. “Given that you don't die in your sleep, so try not to. Shitty way to go.”

“The best, some say.” Erwin shoots him a dry look, but stalks back to the mattress and struggles out of his boots and coat. Levi makes another quizzical sound at that. “How? Boring as fuck.”

Erwin has managed to arrange his aching limbs on the mattress, for once lying on his back because his ribs probably won't tolerate another position anyway. He seems indefinitely more relaxed, detached even, and Levi knows for a fact that he hasn't taken any more chems to achieve that.

“Right you are.”

He probably shouldn't be surprised that for all his calm, Erwin is not a peaceful man. Levi's lips twitch despite himself, not quite pulling into a smile until Erwin has closed his eyes.

“Want a blanket?” Levi asks, not quite knowing what to do with himself. He could scout the area or at least offer his help in the house, but he means to keep his word. And, selfishly, stick around.

He doesn't know what Erwin's reply says. It could be “you” as well as a sleepy mumble or nothing at all. Levi takes the wool blanket from the bedroll – a little scratchy and torn, but quite alright. There are colorful patches on some tears that someone has sewed on with more good will than skill. It's... personal, and again, Levi feels invasive taking it.

He drapes the blanket over Erwin (making an effort of not doing it too carefully, it's not even cold) and sits down beside the mattress. Not too close. Not too far, either.

This... worry will cease, he knows. He does trust Erwin's abilities and to some point his judgment, and he's annoyed with himself to be so fussy. He should give some thought to what Erwin has revealed to him, dark as it may be, and instead he finds himself staring into space, listening to quiet breaths and the almost inaudible creaking of wood getting closer.

The hatch lifts a little, and Harriet's wide, curious eyes scan the attic. No more than her head appears, then she looks at Levi until she seems sure she has his attention.

“Do you want... dinner?” Her voice is hoarse and thin, not sickly, merely like she doesn't use it much. It's the first time Levi hears her speak, too. It's strange to pinpoint – not quite shyness, more like reluctance.

He nods, wondering how Erwin usually does this.

Harriet seems to fidget a little on the ladder, then adds: “Up here?”

Oh, would he have been invited to the family table otherwise, or is that polite guidance? Levi feels reminded on Uri and his friendly insistence to eat with someone else, then shrugs – he doesn't care either way, and if he's honest, he's more comfortable staying here. Marie seems alright, Nile's got a stick up his ass, but now he knows things about their past that makes it plain weird to sit with them and have dinner like everything's sunny.

So... “Yeah,” he replies, considering using one of Erwin's more elaborate phrases but deciding against it, “thanks.”

Harriet flushes a little and disappears without a word, and Levi idly wonders what her parents will do with her once she grows older. This world isn't kind to girls, and even raising and training someone well won't guarantee an unspectacular death around the next corner: polluted water, stray bullets, radiation sickness, wild animals or raiders, an ill-timed infection. Bad luck can get you anything. Death is always present, and the more you try to exclude it from your life, the more you fear.

You build a sanctuary based on your own childhood horrors and discover that your children will still want to see the ugly world outside. Levi calls that irony.

Harriet climbs back up in record time, this time carrying a heavy basket with a dish rag draped over it that she pushes onto the wooden planks. She stares intensely, and Levi guesses she has asked her parents about their 'house guests' and has received evasive answers, yet is old enough to make own observations. There is no threat, no blackmail, and it's questionable whether anyone has ever successfully threatened this place as well. But the silent acceptance must be as confusing to Harriet as it is to Levi.

Eventually, she dives back into the house without speaking again.

Levi examines the content of the basket ('dinner' mostly consists of roasted vegetables and mystery meat thrown together and some sort of flat, tough bread in an unappealing shade of light gray), picks out what he knows and considers safe to eat, then drags the bedroll to a spot where he can keep an eye on the direction of the sewer pipes.

The house goes quiet a while after the sun has set; hard to tell whether that's always the case or just because of the invaders. The radio is turned off eventually, the voices retreat to a more distant place. The cellar, if Levi had to guess – sleeping underground seems a hard habit to break if you've been born and raised there. Erwin is the same, although he has adapted to the reality outside, where camping in any sort of dark hole can easily get you trapped.

Not that this is something to worry about here. The roof doesn't leak, the floor is solid, and the familiar restlessness that comes from things being too 'comfortable' immediately sets in.

Levi dozes in a sitting position and is awake the moment Erwin stirs. It's dark then, although the moonlight from the open windows makes it bright enough for him to see. Levi carefully maintains his posture while the other sits up slowly and pulls his shirt up to inject another Stimpak, then cautiously tests his mobility.

Neither of them is good at admitting weakness or having it witnessed. Levi waits until Erwin seems done, then shifts to make himself felt. “Feelin' better?”

Erwin tilts his head to localize him by the direction of his voice (apparently it's quite dark for a human), then huffs quietly. “Depends on the definition.” He sounds raspy from sleep and little water. Levi rises to walk over and hand him the basket, then digs around until he finds his lighter and brightens the attic a little. The small flame shouldn't be a problem, impossible to see it from outside.

Erwin doesn't  _look_ better with the bruises and healing cuts, even when Hanji has done what they could to speed his regeneration. With a pang of something akin to embarrassment, Levi now realizes that he could have left over the kinds of food that aren't as tough to chew on (not that there were many), considering the injured jaw.

Upon looking at Erwin's tight face and blank stare, however, he knows pain is not the main reason for his lack of appetite. Whether he explicitly remembers killing the supermutant doesn't make much of a difference – his body does.

In an effort to distract him before the memory makes him sick, Levi settles for a comparably nasty topic. “You said you have a traitor,” he begins, “but what if it's some sort of leak?”

One of the things that have been going on inside his head, over and over.

Erwin looks up from pouring cold tea into a tin cup. “Moblit manages the flow of information alone. Unless he's involved, it's impossible to omit him.”

And doubting Moblit is... hard, Levi admits that as well. They haven't discussed everything that happened in the New Combat Zone in detail, so he describes the bookmaker to Erwin now, taking care to exclude possible implications. The other man listens quietly, picking at his food with little enthusiasm, though at least without the queasy pallor.

“I doubt anyone but you possesses that ability of influencing synths,” he says eventually. “The more human a Gen-3-synth becomes, the more flaws in character are possible, although this form of manipulation becomes less likely at the same time.” He chews thoughtfully on a bit of corn, leaving the mystery meat at one side of the plate. “You mentioned to Hanji that your injuries have occasionally been treated with... unorthodox substances like carbolic acid. Some of those are known to trigger mutation.”

He raises his thick brows a little, somehow managing to appear only mildly curious about the origin, just enough to not rouse Levi's annoyance. “Ackerman sometimes displayed a sort of power over others. He seemed to suppress it, knowing it would lead to further investigation, and I'm not even sure it wasn't just his presence. However, if he  _did_ possess something like it and you inherited it, then the synthetic part inside of you might have reacted to mutation. And I'm,” it's unusual for Erwin to speak a little quicker, he always chooses his words carefully and avoids flooding Levi with them, “inappropriately thankful for it, since you saved my life because of that.”

“Didn't do it because I _could_.” This time, the anger Levi feels is cool and sparkling, like freezing rain on his skin. Something that grazes you and leaves you cold in tiny bits.

Erwin's expression softens in a way that doesn't disappear under the bruises. “No. I'm sorry.” He reaches out, seemingly forgetting that he's still holding the tin cup, and brushes the back of his hand against Levi's shoulder. “I'm sorry.”

_They never apologized to you, right?_

Levi scoffs quietly. Not even harsh. “Stop apologizing already, you're pissing me off.”

“Yes. You.” Erwin finishes his tea and touches a frayed edge on his shirt, something that's so typical for him it makes Levi's throat tighten. “Not the man I made assumptions about.”

Levi exhales and resists the urge to fidget like a teenager. This makes him uncomfortable, and he knows he's being a dick about it, but after putting things off until the time was 'right', he now feels tongue-tied and awkward.

“You know I already forgave you, right?”

Erwin, fuck him sideways, has that idiotically soft expression that Levi somehow senses nobody has seen in a long, long time. He just looks at Levi with all that serenity beneath his banged-up face, and it's a relief that it doesn't need words. It can take some, but it doesn't have to.

“I'll still ask you to repeat that for me in the morning,” Erwin replies gently. Levi's cheeks sting hotly at that tone, though not unpleasantly so, and he does the only right thing in that situation: he removes his thumb from the lighter and lets the attic fall back into darkness. “Go back to sleep.”

Erwin makes a low sound that suspiciously resembles the beginning of a chuckle, but complies and arranges himself on the mattress again. After a moment of consideration that he doesn't actually need, aside from making a point, Levi joins him. The mattress is narrow, but it works if Levi rolls onto his side. Close enough to feel the other's presence and his warmth, far enough to not cause pain by transferring weight onto a limb.

There's something else he's been thinking about, and although he  _should_ let Erwin sleep, he might as well get it over with. “Hey.”

Erwin offers him a bit of blanket, which Levi takes; not because he's cold, simply for the luxury of it. This place is probably sufficiently safe to cover yourself with a blanket, since you won't have to jump up in the middle of the night and risk getting tangled in it.

“If Mike was right and that trigger inside your head can be worn off,” Levi begins and practically feels Erwin withdraw into himself at the mention, yet he doesn't stop, “we can try that. If you're up for it. After all, you only need enough time to snap out of it, right?”

“No.” Erwin's voice is flat and sure. “You don't see. I'm not myself then.”

“You came back.”

“Conditions were met. I was worn out. I-”

“You wanna get rid of it, yeah?”

Erwin exhales deeply against the bandages and some inner weight that Levi can hear in the strain of his breathing. “Yes.”

“Fine. Only need to keep you on your toes until you get back.” Levi tries for an airy tone, not sure whether he succeeds. “And I'll give you that you're not too shitty in a match, but you can't beat me. Not after a hundred times.”

And it might take that number, perhaps even more. Levi has thought about it, taking up a fight against someone who's not himself, giving everything he's got, and someone he doesn't want to hurt; the last part is new. It will be difficult, he has no illusions about that, though he's also sure he can tough it out. And Hanji has the medical knowledge to observe changes, so it seems like it's worth a try.

Erwin is worth a try.

Said man doesn't respond. Levi doesn't take it personally. Instead he gently touches the side he's close to, his hand creeps over the center of the chest. There are thick bandages and armored cloth, a few cracked ribs and the sternum, and beneath it, a thundering heartbeat. It practically vibrates in Levi's palm, even when Erwin appears calm and close to sleep. But he's not. His heart is drumming like the fucking timbals in the old Combat Zone, heavy and bone-shaking.

“You know, it's okay if you don't answer now, but ask me whether I'm 'sure' and I'll fucking elbow you.”

Which is a dear habit of his, and in Erwin's current condition, it's promising to be very painful.

Erwin moves a hand over his, warm and rough and a little damp from the shock his heart betrays. It says everything necessary.

The rest, Levi is dying to emphasize again.

 

Morning is still sunny with thick white clouds littering the sky. Good weather to travel in. For a moment, Levi allows himself to mourn that he can't.

The puffy clouds lazily trail along the surface of the water basin he's using to wash. There is some sort of filter to clean the stream water, which he's grateful for – the cold is a small price for skipping the procedure of purifying water enough to let it touch skin and scratches without the slight sting of unnamed chemicals.

And even the penetrative stare is acceptable in turn, though it  _does_ get annoying.

“What,” Levi lowers the razor blade he has used to crop his hair, “are you even gawking at, brat?”

Because that's all this girl seems to do when she sees him. Levi has never been self-conscious and he won't change now, but isn't there something children do when they aren't forced to struggle for survival?

Harriet stares at him. Her braids are slightly neater than yesterday and she's wearing an apron dress Levi has only seen on faded advertisements from the Old World – which isn't a surprise when you consider that her parents grew up in an environment that enshrined parts of that time. She doesn't look the part, though, and she has that odd, dead serious expression brats tend to have.

“Are you a synth?” she asks, just as Levi pulls his shirt over his head again. When he reappears, Harriet has moved closer to him along the beds of tatos, a mutated form of tomatoes that replaced the original vegetable.

“Yeah,” he answers casually. He's surprised at how easy it is; how little it actually matters.

Harriet's face scrunches up – then she sticks out her tongue at him and vanishes, muttering something along the lines of “stupid little man”.

She doesn't believe him. Not for a second. Levi makes a snorting sound of amusement and pats bits of hair from his pants, shaking his head to himself. People always ask that question, yet when it's answered in all honesty, it's brushed off. Weird.

He returns to the house: it's sort of fair to offer his help, although Levi is painfully aware that he knows absolutely nothing about farm work, has never tried it. If Ackerman grew up with it, he hasn't left Levi any memories of how to treat Brahmins, the two-headed cows that are as dumb as they are huge, or how to maintain a field.

It doesn't help that Nile doesn't seem to trust him, especially after Erwin has flat out refused to elaborate, and Levi isn't about to change that. It's better this way, for Nile and his family and the whole valley.

Although Levi now catches a glimpse of the bitter feeling of being excluded – after growing up together so closely that you have trusted someone with your life, it probably... matters if that person now keeps secrets from you. Even for your own good.

It takes more time for consideration to wonder whether Nile is by any chance jealous.

It occurs to Levi when he assists Harriet in digging out a trench (he really does merely assist, because apparently there are some factors playing their part and only Harriet understands them) and she brings herself to ask whether the knife she saw on the top shelf is his. She lets him dig some more until she has constructed a question about how he acquired it. Then what a Deathclaw looks like up close. Conversation eventually goes smoother the more curious she grows, and Levi feels Nile watch.

Strangers, violent ones, crashing here, putting ideas into his daughter's head. Rousing admiration where there should be none. Tales of the world outside, terrible as it may be, replacing shyness and disinterest for lively curiosity.

Levi can see why it would bother someone. But he doesn't support shutting oneself off from reality, so he eventually ignores the increasingly dark glare.

They return to the house in the late afternoon, after the stupid cows are back inside their barn (in the end, the dog had to motivate them) and the wind turns cold and wet with the promise of rain. Levi can't deny being a little smug about Nile's sour mood, though he makes sure his face is blank when they enter the house. The warmth inside is welcome after the biting wind, and Marie greets them with a smile and a wave of four fingers – she's in the main room with Erwin, dividing her attention between cooking and repairing some mysterious kind of farm tool while he fixes clothing. The toddler is on the ground, playing with wooden toys, and Erwin has incidentally piled up clothes on his lap, like you  _might_ do if you politely want to keep a child from climbing up there.

Marie puts her work down and comes over to ruffle Harriet's messy hair and lean up to kiss Nile – the scene is so domestic Levi immediately dodges it, feeling like he's witnessing something rather private.

Erwin catches his eye and beckons him over with a slight twitch of his mouth, and Levi follows it just to get out of that awkward moment of family harmony; so it catches him off guard when Erwin casually reaches up to run his fingers down his arm. Naked, scarred skin, no fabric to stitch, just where Levi has stripped down to his undershirt to cool off. And the touch is slow, almost languid, not pretending to be functional.

“What's gotten into you?” Levi mumbles as he still checks his arm. Doesn't feel like sunburn so far, yet the skin tingles now.

To be honest, Levi isn't sure what to think – he has never entertained the idea of letting anyone touch him in public, knowing that it's merely a show of dominance, and he's nobody's bitch. Erwin isn't one to stake a claim, however, and it's unlikely that he feels the need to discourage competition, seeing as neither Nile nor Marie seem even interested.

What's it for, then?

“Just the mood,” Erwin says lightly. “Quite ironic.”

Levi huffs and sits down on the cushioned bench beside him. “Cut that shit, keeping your feet still for one day doesn't make you a housewife.”

The corners of Erwin's eyes crinkle slightly at what might be a compliment, if a clumsy one. And only with plenty of good will. “Glad to hear it.”

“Great. Now stop doing shitty cooking for the sake of whatever domestic-qualities-bullshit you have.”

“It's not bad,” Erwin replies with dignity. “You do have rather high standards.”

Levi somehow restrains himself from making an innuendo, even if it's only because of that squealing toddler a few feet away that ruins the opportunity. Being a traveler and a synth, he has never been around such small children – they make him wary, though not as uncomfortable as Erwin seems to be around them.

“The fuck I do.” Swearing doesn't affect children, Levi decides. “You just like to poison people, even sawbones says so,” and speaking of Hanji and food, “and what's honeymoon? Some shit you call cooking?”

“No,” Erwin answers, a bit slower than before. “It has nothing to do with cooking.”

“Anything domestic?”

“Yes.” Erwin tucks the needle back in the kit and fastens the end of the thread at the spool. “If two people go to different places together and sleep there for a few nights.”

“Huh.” Hanji wants him to enjoy that? Well, the house _is_ nicely clean and dry. Levi's had a lot worse places to sleep. “We do that all the time. Why two people?”

“Maybe it's about splitting the watch. Half a moon's cycle.” Erwin makes a vague gesture at the ceiling.

“So we're doing the honeymoon-thing ever since, then,” Levi concludes.

“I guess so.”

“Fancy word for something every bunch of drifters does.”

“Our ancestors were strange. Then again, there was no need to stay on the move in those times.”

“True.” Levi scratches the stubborn spikes of his freshly cropped hair on the back of his head. He's still thinking about public displays of affection, then arrives at the conclusion that they are acceptable, as long as they don't get out of hand. Literally. Though for Erwin, who doesn't even share the history of whom he's slept with... Did he want to mirror Marie's actions of greeting her husband?

It gets weirder as he thinks about it. Levi is almost glad when Nile announces they'll be eating now. Judging by the way he still looks over Levi's head when speaking to him, his relationship to Erwin doesn't matter. Or at least it makes nothing better.

Which is entirely fine, because Levi can well live without Nile's approval.

Dinner is a relatively lively affair, considering that one adult cannot speak and one child is too small to do so. Although Eleanor, as the toddler is named, provokes a lot of dialogue, mostly consisting of “No” and “Don't throw that” until Levi begins to wonder whether they just built a name around the word 'no' for that brat.

Eleanor also greatly appreciates Erwin and is unimpressed by his lack of enthusiasm; she mostly seems to like his fair hair anyway, seeing that everyone around her has dark hair. Nile takes personal offense in Erwin's refusal to let her touch it, and Marie laughs silently.

It's not bad. Levi feels like he could sit here and watch it flow, the normal life, the familiarity. Nobody here talks of modifying guns and armored fiber, or how Silver Shroud is the best machine-gun-using detective ever created. So in short, it's nothing Levi could take part in, but he doesn't mind. He's even a bit satisfied he gets to witness this, because even when living so peacefully has little appeal for him, it's what a lot of people fight for. Ackerman probably knew he couldn't have it. He may have been responsible enough to not have children, either.

Did Hanji want this, with Mike or a woman of choice? Does Moblit, in his roboter-ways of serving and caring? It seems hard to believe that everyone strives for this kind of happiness.

The children are sent to bed, and Levi considers that a good opportunity to take his leave as well; not because he's tired (farm work is hard, but simple and pretty dull) but because he's had enough company. Marie has communicated with him via Harriet as her translator, and with the girl gone, he's not going to rely on Nile; and he feels like he has been plenty courteous already. For an unwanted guest that has been to Goodneighbor and heard the singer live who's sometimes on the radio. Harriet likes Mikasa a lot, and she's glaringly eager to see her in person, too.

To Levi's surprise, Erwin joins him when he curtly excuses himself. He doesn't look too tired either, and this is the first opportunity to catch up with his 'siblings' in peace. Nile, at least, seems startled. Marie, not so much, but she's had plenty of time to converse with Erwin anyway.

What about, Levi doesn't want to know.

“You coulda stayed,” he reminds Erwin as he pulls the ladder to the attic down.

Erwin merely shrugs. “I didn't want to.”

Levi huffs and looks over his shoulder at the other. “So.”

Erwin looks back, serious and neutral with his arms loosely crossed. “Did I offend you?”

“You do nothing fucking else, don't act all innocent.” Levi turns to him, the most arrogant expression until Erwin yanks him forward and kisses him, unapologetic and deep, and Levi can't spare longer than a few heartbeats to reproach him. It feels illicit, as if they are breaking a law of hospitality – the one Levi hasn't already broken by cursing or telling battle tales, or Erwin by refusing to entertain children or even saying who he's brought and why. Rather ungrateful guests they are. Levi buries his fingers in wiry blond hair and tries to hold onto that thought, presses himself against Erwin and is pleased when there isn't immediately a pained flinch in response.

Humans take so fucking long to heal, he should be glad he's not one of them. Though that mindset may be just as unhealthy.

“Hey,” he murmurs against Erwin's lips, even though he doesn't mean to, means to maintain his normal voice. It's fun, though, pretending for a second that causing an embarrassing situation with your hosts is the worst thing that can happen. “When are you gonna be good to go?”

It's mostly dark in the hallway, but he feels the little twitch along the corners of Erwin's mouth, the ever so tiny shudder.

Maybe he plays the game as well, because it's not like Erwin to ever prefer sex to duty – not even in jest. This is detached from the world they know, and what lies ahead will be grim. In a new, more vulnerable way Levi isn't dying to explore, but he will.

“On the road,” he huffs with an exasperation he doesn't feel. “Idiot.”

“Because we haven't discussed where we're going to head,” Erwin answers, perfectly calm and collected aside from the small quirk in his lips that somehow lingers. His hands linger where he has cradled Levi's back, firmly, nearly possessively.

“That's 'cause we didn't discuss shit,” Levi uses inspecting a dark bruise at the lower jaw as an excuse to touch, “and you just decided.” After all, it's less idiotic to stand in front of a ladder and make out if you keep talking all the while. Probably.

“I consider changing that,” Erwin informs him once his fingers have tugged the hem of Levi's shirt up a little. “I need to fill you in on quite a lot of background information that influences the search, though.”

That is the part that has always been so easy to leave to others; the scientific shit, the infrastructure, the logistics, the planning of actions against someone powerful. Levi catches himself thinking of avoiding that, he simply needs to know where to stab or shoot, that's all... Only that it's not. He has never tried to systematically learn something, survival being his teacher, but from the occasions Uri has tried to pass knowledge onto him with great patience, Levi has gathered that he's not very good at memorizing dry facts. He has good instincts, albeit those won't always help when he has to reach a decision based on sober assessments.

“Well, fuck me.” Levi lets his hands fall away and takes a step backwards to stretch. “S'ppose you'll have to.”

He's reluctant to end the game, and judging by Erwin's puzzled silence, it's easy to get caught up in it – that, or Levi's studiousness just hasn't been expected. To be honest, he doesn't feel any more motivated when he climbs up the ladder, but keeping up the half-assed effort of someone merely following orders would annoy him even more.

He waits on the attic as Erwin climbs up as well, slower due to his injuries. Something tingles along his spine as that blond head appears above the floorboards, powerful shoulders bowed, hands grasping carefully for the steps.

The memory of something vicious, acrid isn't gone from Levi's mind: he can still see it clearly, remember the blank face, the naked determination to kill. However, he does not see it when he looks at Erwin, as if there is no similarity between him and that... thing, number 13.

That is rather clear to him, but it occurs to Levi that Erwin might not know – that he sees himself as the same as that tool and expects everyone who has witnessed him turn into it to do so as well.

“You know, I broke into your place in the Junktown,” Levi tells him seemingly out of nowhere. It sure gets him Erwin's attention, the other man raising his head to look up at the dark silhouette standing in front of the hatch. It's not unpleasant to have that tall bastard do that.

“I do now,” Erwin replies, playfulness gone, tone flat. “Why?”

Levi crosses his arms, actually feeling smug – it's rare for them to change roles like that, it's usually Erwin who drops things on him and lets him grumble. Petty, yet Levi finds it a good distraction.

He has broken in for the holotapes, wanting to find out more about Ackerman without having to ask for it, because it angered him to do that. Instead of that, Levi finds himself answering: “Get to know shit 'bout you.”

He's standing so close to the hatch that climbing from the ladder onto the floor is difficult, he blocks the way. Erwin has the choice to either remain and wait for him to move or to manage his path sideways. While he's normally one to do the latter, he stops now, hands resting on the blunt stringers of the ladder. Levi can't tell whether he's angry, just silent for the sake of controlling himself, but even that would be alright.

“ _I am 75_ ,” Levi quotes. “What was that about?”

“The yearbook.” Erwin sounds weary, although not uncomfortable. “I shouldn't have kept it. When we left the vault, the school building was still mostly intact. We realized that our ancestors had been pupils from the classes of a middle school. We... wondered which of those we were related to. Useless effort.”

In terms of effectiveness, probably. But it was likely necessary to stay sane in a world that was nothing like the one they had expected, and after being created in an environment that was as clinical as it could get without major use of advanced technology. Erwin isn't a synth, yet the vault has clearly tried to replicate that – clean human slates of maximum physical capacity.

“And then you decided to save the world on your own.” Something inside of Levi shies away from asking why Ackerman became a part of that, how Erwin has even discovered him. No matter what their relationship will turn into, Ackerman has always been there before Levi, the first imprint of 'him'. And it angers him to be weak, so he leaves no room for it. “Following Ackerman.”

This time, Erwin takes longer to answer, though he deigns to treat it as a question – he can be rather unresponsive to indirect ones. But he seems to think he owes Levi, and if that's the case, he's not about to pass up on that opportunity.

“It was not the first thing I did,” the other murmurs. “I was pushing my luck, I suppose. I had expected my brothers and sisters to act differently outside the vault, and I was growing frustrated with how little I could do. I wasn't prepared for defeat. Smith warned me of it, but I couldn't imagine _not_ being able to change the world.”

Crazy bastards that those assholes were, of course their soldiers would think they were gods. Levi snorts and steps away from the hatch, leaving enough space for Erwin to climb up the rest of the way, yet the other man doesn't move.

“I felt like I was disappointing him,” he adds somberly. “Again.”

Erwin is intelligent, Levi knows as much, but he can be rather stupid in his own way. Ignoring the treacherous relief of not speaking of Ackerman anymore, he cocks his head and lets the stiff muscles of his neck stretch. “If you haven't left anything major out, you did everything he wanted.”

“I killed him,” Erwin rebuts calmly. Sticking to something like that, exactly stupid.

“You're not dumb. How many of your 'harvests' did that guy perform? How many broken bones or beatings to _harden_ some brats? Don't fool yourself. He wanted to die.” Why else wouldn't he have prepared Erwin for the possibility of someone uncovering their plot? Cruel, but ultimately necessary. Levi knows a lot about killing, has seen enough of it, and he especially knows that outside of immediate fights for survival, murder is something highly emotional. Killing someone methodically takes guts and deep sentiment.

He has every reason to believe that Smith knew Erwin loved him. Probably loved the boy, too. There is no other reason to sacrifice your life otherwise. And no other reason to go through with a messy killing.

The circumstances, Levi doesn't want to understand.

“I have a recording of the trial.” Erwin sounds nearly absent-minded. “I hid it in the Junktown. When I get distracted, it reminds me.”

Levi remembers finding a blue holotape that was different from the usual orange ones, but hasn't thought anything of it. Though considering it now: blue is the color of the vaults. A very specific shade of blue that is recognizable even on worn plastic.

“Distracted,” Levi repeats, rougher than he actually means to. Erwin makes a dry, unamused sound and proceeds to climb up the rest of the way. “Selfish,” he clarifies, like it isn't human to slacken the reigns every now and then.

Levi distinctively knows he doesn't want to talk about logistics any more. He steps forward again, pushes a boot against Erwin's shoulder just as the other braces a hand on the floorboards. “Hey,” he hums, mouth dry and dusty, “wanna learn something?”

Erwin doesn't move, but Levi can tell he's a second away from brushing the foot off his shoulder and coming up here; the only thing stopping him is probably the effort it takes to get the better of Levi's determination.

“About what.”

“Me.”

That, at least, gives Erwin pause.

“You said you don't really know me,” Levi continues, watching the other's expression closely while knowing that his own is hidden by the darkness. “And you don't. So?”

Erwin doesn't immediately answer, perhaps he's wondering whether this is even a question. Always thinking – it's frustrating, even if thinking before replying saves a lot of hassle, but it also tends to give Levi the impression that Erwin is measuring something. He's a smooth liar.

Maybe this is wrong. Levi is aware that he's acting on a whim and might regret that later, because he has given Erwin something that he should have kept before.

_You can't do it right,_ Hanji's cynical amusement reminds him. And he half listens for Ackerman's view on that, only to be met with silence.

“Yes.”

Erwin looks up at him, head slightly tilted in expectation. Then he proceeds to climb up and settle somewhere, possibly get some light, and that's where Levi evades him, moves away to the open window of the attic.

He glances at it before slipping outside without a word.

The roof is covered by shingles and metal, sturdy enough, it only creaks a little when Levi steps on it. The night is cool and windy, tugging at his hair and his bare arms, but the valley ahead is gray and inviting. So damn far.

The ground is close in comparison. Levi easily balances to the slated edge, unperturbed by the wind, and jumps down. It's quite a fall, but he rolls over his shoulder, transferring most of the impact onto the soft soil at the back of the house. The watchdog merely shoots him a look as he darts off, through the beds of vegetables and into the valley.

Levi realizes he could run away.

The equipment can be replaced. Not like he deserves the fancy stuff anyway, not like he needs it, and the freedom that comes with it is overwhelming. Like the first night beneath the open sky after he ran from the Combat Zone, and now there's the same star-filled void above him. Levi spins around without stopping as he runs into the dark fern so that the stars blur, remembers Uri saying that he firmly believes there's life out there. So far away and not giving a fuck about the Earth, but it's  _there_ .

Levi instinctively crouches in the fern when he detects movement, knowing that with the cover of darkness and the swaying of the fronds in the wind, he's impossible to see.

Yet Erwin tries.

He hasn't made any light, just leaves the house and looks around – it's so unlike him to stumble into a situation without any hope of success. It's not how he operates, Erwin would bring some form of lantern and call out and wake the family to search. That is the highest chance of finding someone out here, after all.

This is no longer the game of the rude guests. Levi can't tell whether it still  _is_ a game, though.

He rises, lets himself be seen for a brief moment. Then he vanishes again, sneaking through the fern, slipping through the landscape without leaving his path open. Unless he chooses so, purposefully tramples on a tuft of moss or splashes through a puddle.

Erwin still doesn't call him. He follows, sometimes too slowly, but he makes up for it with his tactical mind, somehow finding a way to guess where Levi moves. He doesn't carry a gun, which is plain stupid at night, even in a place like this. And they are straying far from the house, too far for an injured man to run back on time if something does happen. Judging by the way Erwin glances around him or stays to listen, he has by no means forgotten the risk, he's not caught up in something. He simply tolerates it for the sake of – what?

He's a liar, but he has always played Levi's game. The game where Levi sets up the rules, where he decides where it ends.

The fern rustles when Levi drags his lower arm over it. Erwin turns into his direction and takes a step – then flinches as a pebble hits his shoulder.

He holds up his empty hands in a pacifying gesture. Levi sees the targeted shoulders drop a little in relief, though.

Another pebble flies up towards the sky, then succumbs to gravity and rains down on his skull.

Without lowering his hands, Erwin obediently raises his head to look up.

Levi crashes into him with a force that would hurt a lesser man without any injuries, and Levi silences a pained groan by clamping a hand over Erwin's mouth as he presses him down into the fern. It raises a wave of that soapy herbal scent and the moisture of dew, the cold air is full of it, makes him almost giddy.

“Look up.”

He assumes Erwin does that because he has little choice otherwise. Levi can feel his rapid heartbeat, the breath sucking against his palm.

“Look up,” he repeats huskily. “Look at that fucking huge sky. Remember seeing it for the first time.”

The breath hitches. It could merely be pain, but Levi chooses not to think so.

One way or another, both of them have only seen the sky once they were adults. Even being a man of reality, it has mesmerized Levi, and he doesn't know whether Erwin has felt the same or was scared of the nothingness above.

He leans in closer, kneeling beside Erwin, still pushing him into the ground. Not because it's a fight, he wants to. “When I was alone for the first time, out in the nowhere of the Wastelands,” he whispers, “I was so fucking happy.”

Erwin's breath hasn't slowed down. Nor has his heart. He hasn't moved, looks up into the starry night. He sticks to the rules. The cold creeps all over Levi's bare arms now, not unpleasant or hostile, just the outside world making itself known to him, demanding room for its presence.

“I'm with you now.”

At that, Levi removes his hand. He doesn't know if Erwin understands what he has said, what it  _means_ , but even if not, the other probably senses it's something. Something deep.

But he doesn't regret revealing it, he finds. The urge to run is still there, but it turns out to be just that: run, not run away.

Erwin utters breathless chuckle. It vibrates in his chest and trembles in his arms, makes his knees bounce a little, and then he's sitting up. There is a sparkle of wetness on one cheek, although that might well be a drop of dew, likely is. It makes no difference for what Levi senses rolling off of him in waves.

It creates such a solemn atmosphere that Levi feels pressed to violate it. “Are we gonna freeze if we fuck out here?”

We experimentally rolls his hips down against Erwin's hip, a spark of that infectious chuckle leaps over to him and tickles in his belly.

“Or get attacked.” Erwin's hand skids over his thigh to leave a trail of warmth that fades all too quickly.

“Storm's gonna get here soon,” Levi adds as Erwin sits up far enough to let him press an open-mouthed kiss to his galloping pulse. “Could die there.”

“Nile goes on patrols at night if he's worried,” Erwin drags him onto his lap, a cold, dirty hand trails up his spine. “Shoots if something suspicious moves.”

Levi smirks at that one and tugs at the bandages covering Erwin's chest, annoyed that they keep him from touching skin. “Or you'll split your gut before,” he teases, licking a wet stripe over Erwin's temple that quickly cools. “Should probably stop.”

Erwin's fingers dig into his ass to bodily pull him flush against the other. “No,” he all but growls, his teeth graze Levi's collarbone, the tender scar above his heart.

“Didn't bring shit, either,” Levi replies hoarsely, not so much to reason against Erwin, only to hear his voice, the need, the vulnerability, the unmasked desire for closeness of any kind, as long as it's Levi.

“But I want you.” Erwin exhales against his moist skin, then raises both hands to frame Levi's face and pull him down. “Please don't deny me,” he adds before pressing a kiss to his lips, his chin, the corners of his mouth, the slight curve above the upper lip. He's not begging and not demanding either, not expressing himself as subtly as he usually does. His kisses speak of urgency, and Levi basks in it, selfishly stalls for time to explore that odd feeling of being... worshipped, not for his skill in battle, but for something that can't be taken, only given. Sealed as he is, he has always loved the tribute. This is different, this is better, and he wants it.

He will want it tomorrow, too. And the day after tomorrow. It's not wise to think further ahead, yet he'll probably still want it even later.

“Come apart,” he murmurs against Erwin's lips, because he doesn't know how to achieve it any other way; he's not a versed manipulator, all he has is a distinct feeling that he wants to unravel Erwin the same way the other man has done to him. Without risking to cause damage, because he knows more about Erwin now, yet what hurts him can be easy to miss.

He will hurt him; he's hurting him  _now_ , though Erwin is accepting of it. He will pry the old scars open if he has to.

“Can't,” Erwin hisses back, his teeth graze the hollow of Levi's throat. Levi grinds down on him in response, not bothering to be considerate as he slips his cold hand under Erwin's belt and tangles icy fingertips in coarse hair.

“You fucking can,” Levi growls as the other gasps, shock and pleasure mixing. Erwin then replies with that quiet chuckle again and kisses him.

In the open, thick fern around them in a cold night, and Levi demands that he  _lets go_ . It's not wise, especially if half your brain is ruled by a behavior protocol.

Yet they're here, and Levi is adamant. He's not to be placated by kisses, instead he nips Erwin's already bruised lip harshly in reproach and drags a hand through his hair to pull his head back – so he can see the starry sky. The thing that is nothing like the vault, nothing like the room in Goodneighbor either: this isn't his territory, and Levi reminds him, grounds him the best he can.

“Look up,” he instructs and drapes his cool limbs over Erwin, pulls him against his own body so that he doesn't have to hold himself up all alone despite cracked ribs. His other hand has worked open the belt buckle, his palm warms at least a little on the heated skin above the hip before sliding over his clothed cock.

Erwin's blue eyes are wide open, although he blinks and shudders. The stars, the visual proof that they're outside and not under a cleverly decorated ceiling, reflect in those eyes – it's quite beautiful, Levi realizes with a start. He's not someone who ever wonders about beauty, this world doesn't teach you to stop and stare, but now that he's  _seen_ it, he's struggling to appreciate it.

They clumsily rock against another for a short while, exploring the feeling of being both unreasonable and wanton. When he feels like Erwin's eyes move slower instead of darting around, Levi slips his fingers beneath the underwear and wraps them around his cock. It earns him a grunt; even his warmed hand is still cold on the sensitive flesh, and Levi's palm is always callous.

But none of them stops. Levi's grip on Erwin's hair loosens, and the other drops his head to bury it in the curve of his neck. His sharp pants warm and moisten the skin in small patches – is he taking refuge from the nothingness above? Perhaps. His hands roam Levi's body almost feverishly, his lips feel twisted from lust or discomfort or both.

This isn't quite sex for pleasure, although Levi has every intention of having that later. This is something to work another something out of their systems, the start of something. Maybe even something soft. Levi sharply thrusts his hips against Erwin's abdomen, searching for an angle that grants him some friction. It must hurt, rubbing the blunt traumata the wrong way, but even when Erwin tenses, he doesn't disentangle himself from Levi; instead presses closer until there is hardly room to move. The cold seems more prickling in comparison to the heat between their bodies, Levi's breath creates a small puff of fog as he exhales and then drags Erwin up for a kiss. It's graceless and rough as the rest, he can't seem to figure out how to make it gentler: everything about him feels pulled taut and so tense it makes him ache.

The growl he emits sounds alien to his own ears, feral and fierce. “Bet you'd look nice,” he twists his wrist around to slide the slightly smoother hollow of his palm over the tip of Erwin's cock, “on your back on the earth. Could fuck you-... till there's your shape 'n the dirt.”

They haven't explored switching their roles yet; it wasn't an issue the first time because of Levi's tangled clothes, and when he brought it up later, Erwin has conveniently distracted him. Now he feels Erwin tense up and can't tell whether it's his words or his hand that caused it.

“I'm not... much of a fight now.” The slow, deep drawl fuels the heat pooling between Levi's legs; he admits that he adores this voice, especially like this.

“Don't have to fight me,” he mumbles and pushes his open belt aside to ease the pressure on his groin. The cold night air is a shock, he hisses before Erwin runs his perfect teeth over his beating pulse. “Yes I do,” he hums breathlessly, and Levi finds that he can't disagree. _Fighting over everything._

He feels like an isolated furnace, hot on the inside and cold on the outside. Erwin trembles beneath him, and it doesn't seem like he's only shivering from the temperatures. The tension makes his shoulders and neck rigid, and Levi drags him closer to transfer more weight, mold himself against the other despite his own lack of soft planes. His hand wraps around both of their cocks, awkwardly due to the lack of space and lubrication, although the moisture of precome eases it a little. Levi growls at the contrast of hard, smooth flesh against his own too rough fingers, the very image of his conflict.

He desperately wants to chase his own fulfillment, the relief of the tautness he feels all over his body, but he struggles to remind himself that this is not what he does this for.

Putting someone before him is alien. Erwin tells him that he does it all the time, but Levi doesn't believe him; if he did, this wouldn't feel so strange, would it?

“Hey.”

His voice is more of a wheeze than he'd like, he tastes salty sweat on his upper lip as he runs his free hand over the nape of Erwin's neck, accidentally grazing a stitched cut in the process.

Erwin makes a short noise that is probably meant to signal he's listening. Which he's not. He feels coiled up and tense in a way that's not just lust, despite of what his body tells. His breathing, although fast and sometimes hitching, is chopped and carries a note of strain.

Levi doesn't know what to say. How to reach into him. How he... even achieved the power over someone else to do that.

He cradles the blond head with his arm and feels Erwin's breath hit the side of his neck, the curve of the clenching muscles in his jaw. The cold seems to seep into every limb faster despite quickly pumping blood.

“Look up,” Levi whispers hoarsely, his throat tight. “It's yours.”

There's wetness spreading along the crook of his neck. Levi doesn't mind. There's only them out here, it's between them.

And it will heal eventually.

 

The next days are easier.

Levi still disagrees with being in one place for so long, but he can see the progress, and that's what makes it easier to endure.

He learns the basic signs Marie uses for communication, enough that once he gets the routine of life in the valley, he understands her fairly well. Not that they make much of it; he's not a talker, and she probably feels the same as Nile about tales from the outside world.

When there's monotonous work around the house to be done, she sometimes has Harriet read something aloud. Books from before the Great War mostly. Levi doesn't get half of what's in those, but it gives him an impression of the truth behind Uri's remark of people asking him to tell stories: the allure of something peaceful, luxurious.

In such a good, proper world, there would be no place for someone like him.

Erwin gets better. His bruises change color, stitches close, and when Marie redresses his ribs, she doesn't wrap them up as tightly and thickly as before. She doesn't seem to notice the crescent-shaped scratches in his skin.

Or they are normal for people like them.

Levi mostly spends the days apart from Erwin and the nights with him. For the first time, he experiences the other as a troubled sleeper, unlike before. He doesn't toss and turn or talk, but constricts until his muscles tremble with the effort. Levi has to literally pry him open, like he said he would, break his grip and press his arms against the mattress until they stop twisting themselves around his body.

But it gets better. Easier to snap him out of it. The dreams grow shorter. And with it, Erwin seems to begin to believe him that Levi is able to beat even the vault soldier in him.

Sometimes he notices Erwin watching him. It's not a dopey stare (he only seems to get that when he's under heavy medication) – it's pondering, serious like everything he does. The expression has made Levi uncomfortable in the past, especially from Hanji or Moblit; it seemed like they try to see Ackerman in him, the fucking Leviathan and not the... wrapping.

And he can't read people well enough to say whether Erwin's expression is different now. It probably isn't, his own validation is what counts, and yet it doesn't  _feel_ as offensive as before.

The radio plays something slow and vocal when Levi senses the eyes on him again. It's evening, Marie is bringing the girls to bed (it's amazing how a mute woman argues with a petulant toddler) and Nile is feeding the dog, so they are alone in the living area. Levi listlessly scrapes a knife over a piece of wood, wondering why anyone has the patience to carve it into a shape. Marie enjoys doing it and has shown him some of her works, mostly toys, and Levi acknowledges the effort of finding something for him to do if he doesn't want to talk or read or craft. But that's about it.

Erwin has closed his book without Levi noticing, his trigger finger traces circular patterns on the worn cover. When Levi lifts his head to return his gaze, he wets his lips, his hand stops moving. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

Levi shrugs, doing his best to appear nonchalant. “Why not.” It comes out sufficiently casual.

Erwin gets to his feet, a lot less stiff by now, even though he's not fully back to form. “For a multitude of reasons?”

Levi throws him a haughty sneer. “What reasons?”

 

The plan was to go to the stream, or at least the general direction. They don't make it past the barn.

Many things about Erwin still remain a mystery, but of the things he likes to do, screwing standing up against a wall is pretty high on the list.

“Fuck you.” Even the hiss lacks venom as Levi peels his lips back from his teeth. “This is... less than... ideal.”

The rail above his head that he's currently holding onto gives a pitiful squeak as if to agree. Since Erwin is quite a bit taller than him, Levi either needs to stand on something or hold himself up – he has opted for the latter for the sake of his pride, even if it tires his muscles.

Erwin looks up, a devilish glint in the darkened blue of his eyes and tousled hair sticking to his forehead that makes it damn difficult to pretend to be mad. “Well,” he starts and rolls his hips up, earning a snarling groan from Levi and an impatient thrust back at him, “if you don't come...” He stops to take a breath and correct the stutter of his hips; partially holding himself up with his arms automatically makes Levi's muscles easily tighten, which is something to consider during preparation, but also an appeal, it seems. “... I could make it up to you?”

Levi grins wolfishly and closes his legs with more force where they are wrapped around his middle.  _Oh yes, please._

Though what he says is: “Don't think... I'll let ya off th' hook.”

It loses emphasis due to the gasp when Erwin strikes something within him that seems exceptionally receptive, and for a moment, he feels Erwin reflexively move his hands under his thighs to support him in case he lets go of the rail.

Out of sheer provocation, Levi removes one hand, leaving the other and Erwin's own muscle power hold up his weight. It begins to tear at the hand gripping the rail and burns in his biceps, but he refuses to care. He's on fire, he's fucking  _euphoric_ , and now he's sort of fixated on not coming to make Erwin eat his words.

None of them removed any clothes, even when the sun hasn't entirely set and the evening is acceptably mild. Since they don’t wear their full equipment around the house, nothing gets caught on a sharp edge, yet it does get in the way of touching. Now that Levi has a free hand, it’s annoying to have his trembling fingers bump into cloth. He figures he needs a distraction: even though this is as basic as it gets, fucking against the outside wall of a barn and exchanging comfort or rest for privacy and a taste of what it will be like in the future, it does it for him. Maybe it’s just the dry spell and the appeal will wear down after the first few times of holding a gun in one hand while you fuck, keeping an eye out for the environment instead of what’s fun. Really, he’s trying to put his expectations into perspective.

But  _goddamn._

A bit of dust trickles from the rusty suspension above their heads at a particularly hard thrust, Levi feels the coarse wood scrape over the back of his shirt, possibly gather a few splinters. It mixes with the burn in his muscles and the fiery tingle speeding along his veins, a cacophony of heat and rush. He curses against the feeling of tightness building in his groin, too soon, too quickly to burn. It makes him light-headed, and having Erwin’s face in front of him, not obscured by darkness now, doesn’t help. He’s… a sight, even with healing bruises and a rosy flush that accents the paleness of the skin even more. And fuck him, there’s that smug glint in his eye that Levi won’t leave unchallenged.

Not bothering to consider whether this is even an acceptable idea, he hooks his free arm around Erwin’s neck to pull himself closer, shifts his legs for a wider cradle that will drive the other man’s cock deeper if he keeps up his thrusts with force. He feels Erwin shiver in response, breath leaving him in a low hum that scratches at his vocal chords. His shoulders relax a little despite the strain of pressing Levi against the wall, he tilts his head almost lazily to kiss him.

Levi slightly draws his head back before it happens, lips barely touching as he whispers: “Tell me… the color of the walls. In…your vault.”

He doesn’t need to feel the sudden tautness of Erwin’s body and the stutter of his hips to sense that the question catches him completely off guard.

It might not even be something his barriers forbid him to say, but it’s certainly not something he likes to remember. Despite that, Levi probes it – the memories, the things that hurt. He doesn’t have any idea what he’s doing, but he does it the only way he knows; play it by ear and see what happens.

And although it appears willful, he doesn’t want to screw up. But he has to start somewhere, as long as the memory of the pit is still fresh.

It takes an effort to act unfazed, give a tantalizing little roll of his hips to goad Erwin on, as if this really is a casual question, as if he doesn’t see the shutters threaten to lower behind those bliss-blown eyes.

The muscles of Erwin’s jaw shift under his skin as he grits his teeth. His hands that hold Levi’s thighs up tighten their grip as well, perhaps leaving imprints on the scarred skin, and the near-stop slowdown of his thrusts forces Levi to suppress a snarl. Wasn’t a tough question, why the hell would he  _stop_ , it’s not fair…

“White,” Erwin nearly bites the syllable off, he furrows his brow as if concentrating hard. “They were white.”

Levi refrains from saying something excessively stupid, like ‘See, that wasn’t difficult’, but pretending that this hasn’t been a test also keeps him from uttering praise. And he thinks, gambles even, that Erwin wouldn’t like to be praised when this is still… too raw.

So instead he impatiently rocks his hips and pulls himself a little higher on the rail, both an attempt to entice Erwin back into moving and… he refuses to be self-conscious just now.

“That,” Erwin obviously pretends he doesn’t get the hint, judging by the shallow, barely satisfying ‘twitch’ he answers Levi’s demand with, “was a filthy trick.”

Levi grins, a spark of relief flitting through him as he lets the deep, rumbly baritone wash over him. “Worked.”

Shit, his hand is starting to sweat, he might lose his grip if he’s not careful. And if Erwin doesn’t get his ass in gear sometime soon.

“C’mon, hurry… the fuck up.”

Erwin still eyes him with that speculative gaze that tells Levi all too clearly that he might not question his methods, but he’s not above petty revenge. “Thought… you could stop swearing at me.”

Levi has been swearing at him from day one. It has never been a fucking problem. It isn’t now, aside from the fact that Erwin damn well knows Levi couldn't simply drop the habit even if he tried. With a dull growl that speaks of patience thoroughly used up, he grinds down, not minding the ache in his arm as long as he gets to draw Erwin closer, shifting his pelvis  _just so_ and sees the other's eyes glaze over. They meet for a messy kiss, one that Levi can't help moaning into as Erwin finally gives into his enticement, ramming his cock upward until Levi thinks he can pursue his  _compensation_ another time if he only keeps hitting there-

“Lord Almighty!”

Out of sheer instinct, Levi yanks the carving knife he has thoughtlessly taken with him from his belt and aims to throw it – he barely stops himself before the weapon leaves his hand.

Erwin forces a sharp exhale through his grit teeth. “Nile,  _what_ .”

Said man is staring at them with a nearly comical expression of disbelief. He's holding a hunting rifle with both hands, prepared to aim himself, though his hands (and his jaw) have momentarily gone slack.

It occurs to Levi that despite him considering their state of things fairly obvious, Nile did not surmise anything between them; judging by his blank face, he finds it hard to believe even now.

“You went out,” he stutters, probably the first time in a long row of years that he does it again, “without a weapon. I thought...”

The two of them getting attacked by a mutated bear or something is apparently more likely for Nile than quietly sneaking away to fuck – shit, they were even trying to be  _considerate_ ! Levi rolls his eyes, but doesn't bother hiding his smugness.

“It's quite alright,” Erwin says evenly, although his voice is deep and sensual and hearing it sends a full-body shiver down Levi's spine. Like he doesn't have his dick up someone's ass right now. Like he didn't _feel_ Levi shiver through that connection.

“I... see.” Nile appears well and truly shocked; he recovers some of his control when he catches Levi smirk at him and lifts the barrel of the rifle. “Well then.”

He withdraws from the barn, Levi hears his stiff steps head back to the house – and then doesn't try to keep in the short snicker that abruptly wells up. Erwin makes a half-hearted attempt to give him a stern glare, but it melts away when Levi spins the carving knife between his fingers and then rams it into the wooden planks of the barn wall.

“You're a monster,” he murmurs, strangely affectionately.

“Slow human,” Levi snaps back and runs his hand through blond hair to drag him into a kiss.

 

They don't hurry to return to the house, but when they do, Levi doesn't actually feel guilty. The wastelands are sparsely populated due to the struggle for survival itself, so once you find a partner, the gender tends to be a secondary issue; unless you can have your pick.

Though if you grew up by the standards of a rigid fantasy world, your opinion might differ. Levi hasn't considered that, and yet he finds he still doesn't care. The only person who might be bothered is Erwin, and as far as Levi can tell, it's not the case. He, too, probably thought Nile had gotten the hint.

Things go a little awkward after that, not in an unfriendly manner, more like an uncomfortable loss for words. Silence is nothing that pressures Erwin into talking, so when Levi is set up with Harriet again, he assumes it's a form of getting both of them out of the way.

Feels like he's witnessing the beginning of a trial or something... However, when Erwin promises to join him around noon later and lightly runs his hand down his arm again, it doesn't seem like it needs to worry him.

Levi is unfamiliar with the concept of social compulsion. He just senses that there's something, and if there wasn't already a rift between Erwin and his former 'siblings', it might become problematic. Seems rather petty after rescuing someone from a cage fight in a drug pit, when-

“Are you one of us?”

Harriet is staring up at him, her newly braided hair already a felted mess again. She is checking the fences and alarm triggers today, an 'adult duty' by the spring in her step.

“What?”

Unless there are also child-synths, Levi can clearly deny that already.

“A soldier,” Harriet clarifies bleakly. “Like Dad.”

Well... Judging by very basic features, Nile and he share a few traits: the black hair, the light gray eyes, the pale skin, perhaps scars. Still, it's a question only someone who hasn't seen a whole lot of different people in their life can ask. Levi snorts at the mere thought. “Fuck, no.”

Also, no, he hasn't tried to cut down on the swearing. The brat is old enough.

Harriet scrutinizes him with that openly measuring expression that children seem to wear whenever they feel like it; she probably thinks he's shitting her again. The truth is hard to sell.

“You are small.”

Yes, she really doesn't get to see a whole lot of 'other people'. Levi is admittedly short, but most people in the wastelands aren't much taller – especially not as tall as Nile or Erwin, and stressing that fact only creates the impression of inferiority. Levi isn't fazed by insults like these, only Harriet's naivete rubs him the wrong way.

“You keep saying shit like that, get ready to defend your ass.”

Harriet throws him an earnest glare. “Dad says I have to run.”

A smart decision when you're a child, but it leads to you being fucked if you  _don't_ escape. Levi scoffs and frowns at the spring trap that Harriet inspects. Erwin likely knows they're here, he's not in the valley for the first time after all... However, it makes Levi wonder whether it cost Erwin an effort to run after him in the middle of the night with that information in the back of his mind. His lower leg has been crushed by one of these things before.

Yeah, it wasn't easy, presumably. He did it, though. It's a heavy, foreign feeling.

“Won't always be an option,” he mumbles offhandedly, mostly trying to wrap his head around that realization.

Harriet looks up at him, curiosity and and doubt mixing in her small face. The authority of her father clearly looms over her head, and yet she rises from her crouch to gaze at Levi with that speculating leer. “And then?”

Well, there are ways of saving your hide, even if you can't flee... But Levi has usually opted for one. “Fight. Kill if you need to.”

“Dad says I'm too young,” Harriet insists, although she's too old (and probably too intelligent) to unquestioningly accept what her father dictates. She just doesn't seem sure whether a passing guest is the right choice to incur Nile's wrath... and sensitize him to possible filial disobedience.

Smart move, that.

“Your old man don't see much of what's out there,” Levi huffs and eyes Harriet in turn, sees her straighten under the weight of his gaze. “You planning on staying here? Or do you at least want the _option_ of getting out?”

Shit, that sounds like something Erwin would say... And it's supposedly irresponsible as hell to suggest it to someone her age, so young and easy to influence.

However, Levi does not believe in a safe haven out from the world. Harriet's chances for survival will be greater the sooner she learns, when her mind and body are flexible. No matter what times used to be like – this is reality now.

Harriet chews on her bottom lip, and Levi can practically see her consider his example, his short built and his scars, the things they tell her. The costs that she can't possibly estimate, the information she lacks about the world outside the valley.

Before the child reaches a decision, there are steps approaching. Even steps, so it's not Erwin, and due to some understanding of gender roles Levi doesn't quite get, Marie mostly stays around the house and Eleanor, so it's not her, either.

Maybe Nile grew restless with Levi around his influenceable daughter – he'd be right. He still wears that constipated expression, but he's not holding a hunting rifle right now (it's slung over his shoulder at least) and manages a glance at Levi's face; that has been difficult from the start.

Harriet thus finds it a good opportunity to inquire her father's opinion – as if she doesn't  _know_ , but apparently, little girls are plucky that way.

“Can we train with weapons?”

Judging by the hint of grimace on Nile's face, it's not the first time she asks. His wave is distracted, though, his mind clearly elsewhere. “Not now, honey. Fetch a new wire spool, will you?”

Dissatisfied, yet seemingly used to her request being shot down like this, Harriet takes off, not even subtly leaving her father alone with Levi.

Nile puts his hands to his hips, visibly uncomfortable while Levi crosses his arms in front of his chest; it doesn't matter what this is about, he won't take anything back; even though this is Nile's and Marie's home and they have been hospitable and friendly enough, 'Uptopland' does not exist. There will be no peace anytime soon.

“So... About you and Erwin.”

Who would have thought that  _this_ is the more pressing issue. Levi shifts his weight and continues to stare, face blank. Nile sighs and rubs the back of his neck, and some part of Levi feels instantly insulted that Harriet has compared the two of them.

“None of my business, but... you might want to be careful.”

It feels like an eternity has passed since the last time anyone has ever warned him about Erwin. Levi has the strangest déjà-vu, and he can't help being a little curious why Nile would warn him. Does he intend to hint at the mental barriers? He did see them fuck, so he must know they're not complete, and about the other stuff...

“Just...” Nile makes an irritated noise and furrows his thin brows. “He can be odd.”

“Wow.” Levi snorts – he can't help it, there is this desire to act bratty around Nile. Not very mature, but he so rarely gets the opportunity of being at least consciously stupid. “I'll keep that in mind.” For entertainment purposes.

“See, you _don't_ get it.” Nile makes a vague, annoyed gesture. “He's always had this... penchant for maximum capability. Irrational expectations and so on. Like he's striving for someone, not like a normal partner, more like – a superhuman.”

That does get Levi's attention, although his barred expression remains the same. “Superhuman,” he echoes tersely.

Erwin's and Nile's relationship isn't as close as it probably once was, and Erwin has made a point of not telling his former brother anything that could endanger his family. However, Nile does know him, they have grown up together: what if he somehow guessed it?

“Yeah.” Nile's gaze measures him, the short height, the muscle mass that's not impressive on sight, the pale, narrow face-

Oh.

“He doesn't mean ill, it's just his... thing.” Nile drags a hand through his hair, seemingly genuinely torn between relativizing what Levi might hope for and what Erwin is willing to give, in a way of damage limitation. As a friend who knows how complicated Erwin is.

Keeping a straight face suddenly proves to be very hard.

“I see.”

His voice is stable, which surprised him a little. Nile drops his hand from his hair, possibly relieved – he's still hard to read, the whole situation is too absurd for Levi to have experienced anything remotely comparable.

Nile shrugs and scowls. “He said you guys were leaving in the next days, so... speak out on that or something.” He flushes, unwillingly remembering the last time he has thought they 'talked', and that adds the last bit of weirdness. “He's around the razorgrain field somewhere,” he suggests when Harriet comes back into sight, too far to hear them yet, but likely in for a deep father-daughter-conversation. Not something Levi wants to participate in, either.

He nods; at this point, his face feels frozen, he no longer worries that his mouth might twitch in odd ways.

He leaves Nile to his business and goes on about his own. Disbelief tingles strangely inside his skull as he makes his way through the valley, the ground goes softer with moisture the closer he gets to the stream.

Erwin has lowered onto one knee and carefully weeds a bed of seedlings, his face distant while he's probably absorbed in deep thought. He has willowed his sleeves, dark earth sticks to his whole hand and there are some tiny cuts from the razorgrain on his lower arms.

He raises his head as Levi approaches, and he brightens slightly; nothing as obvious as a smile, but seeing him makes a difference, Levi can objectively claim that. How does anyone  _not_ notice?

“Done already?” Erwin offers him a hand that, smeared with dirt as it is, Levi naturally doesn't take. He crosses his arms again and leans against a moss-covered rock to regard the other from there. “No. But your 'brother' called me out.”

Erwin plucks out a cluster of twisting weed, brows slightly raised. Asking why this is worth mentioning.

“Apparently,” at that point, Levi is quite impressed with himself to retain a neutral tone, “fucking around with you is a shit idea, because I'm, whatcha call it, _mediocre_.”

Erwin stares at him. There is that bubbling feeling that threatens to break out, and before that happens, Levi clarifies: “You're into weirdass superhuman bullshit, and I'm not up to that standard.”

Erwin wipes his face with the back of his arm, his blue eyes ignite slowly, but contain their mirth. “I suppose 'dumping' Mikasa in Goodneighbor had him worried,” he muses and clears his throat. “Nile thought that there was more to it.”

If being left alone in a gangster settlement is the punishment for losing Erwin's interest, a warning might be in order... And yet it's so wrong and so off the mark from how things are handled outside the valley that Levi can't help barking a short laugh.

“Goddammit,” he growls and smacks his forehead. “I've just been fucking told that _I'm_ too weak for your tastes, you bastard.”

“Well,” he hears Erwin reply blithely, “your height is actually beyond mediocrity. I'll have to find somewhere nice and quiet to dump you, lest you die.”

Levi kicks dirt at him for that.

“You son of a bitch, _humans_ should keep their trap shut.”

Erwin answers with him a quiet little laugh that settles even the mere pretense of annoyance well. Levi marvels at the natural misconception some more: to everyone looking at him, he's nothing special. He has always known that people tend to underestimate his skills because he's short and scrawny, but finding out who created him has messed it up. He's getting over it, though. Nile's misplaced good will does help. Maybe Levi will even swear a little less around the children to honor that.

“I've been meaning to talk to you anyway.” Erwin tosses a tuft of weed away and carefully rises, favoring his scarred leg after kneeling for a while. The first few steps are always stiff and seem to ache, and Erwin looks down at the damaged limb with pursed lips.

“I will ask Moblit to install a cybernetic actuator in my ankle,” he states and then walks past Levi to wash his hands in the stream.

It seems brisk, not like he actually wants his input on this at all, but Levi knows him a little by now; and he can tell that fixing his leg is a difficult decision for him. Uri said it's because he considers it deserved punishment for Mike's death, and upon hearing how he has been brought up, the idea of optimizing his 'perfect' structure of a body might feel perverse.

When Erwin returns, shaking water from his mostly clean hands, Levi bestows on him the same measuring gaze Harriet has given him. “At least you'll get to keep up with me then. Being, y'know, human and all.”

Levi has never been asked for his opinion on something so grave, so he doesn't know how to handle that situation. Equal treatment is a lot more tricky than he thought.

“I'll try.” Erwin sighs as he leans against the rock as well. His arm brushes Levi's, not intrusively so, only a tactile reminder of being there. Levi doesn't tell him that he doesn't need it to acutely sense his presence. That it means something to him.

“Try your _best_ , old man.”

“Surgery will tie me up for a while again. We will lose time.”

Offering a loophole as well as finding one for himself, as usual. Levi scoffs and bumps his shoulder against Erwin's arm. “Don't care. Means you're less likely to die.”

Levi knows that eventually, Erwin will bring up his own expendability again, because the synth of subject Ackerman can do a whole lot more for this world than even a good soldier. And then they will argue over it. It will be annoying as hell. Probably hurt like a bitch, too.

But not now. He can feel the gentle press of lips against the parting of his hair and keep that feeling to himself. He might need it when he digs out Ackerman's memories inside his head, to remind himself that this is  _his_ .

“There's something I need to do anyway.”

Levi almost says it so himself, both hears and feels Erwin hum in admission. The blue eyes are already gazing beyond the valley, but his wet fingers grasp Levi's and envelop them.

After a moment of hesitation, Levi squeezes back.

He will have to hold onto the anchor without shattering it. He can do as much, though – whether he wants it or not, he is Levi Ackerman.

 

_He is hovering on the verge of sleep. The blanket covers him, only the heel of his left foot sticks out: the air is cold, he wants to tug himself under the blanket._

_He's just barely aware that he can't. He can't move._

_His mind is too sluggish to comprehend, he drifts off, stirs a little. Everything is slow. The feeling of comfort hasn't lifted, so the blanket must be too short. He has grown, after all._

_But it's dark. He cracks his eye open and is met with darkness._

_Strange. It's never completely dark for his eyes._

“ _I've changed my mind,” a voice says, clear, defiant. It's Home. “You can't take him.”_

“ _Rather kill it?” It's the Rat. It hasn't been here for a long time. He remembers, though._

“ _Him.”_

“ _Go right a'ead, do it,” the Rat taunts._

“ _You didn't listen,” Home says, cold and angry. “He won't die.” There's silence, and Home speaks up again, although less sure, suddenly almost meek. “He won't die. He's my little moon.”_

_More silence. Home breathes faster, thicker. He smells fear and despair, coloring the darkness around him. Despite his closed eyes, he can see the room, feels it, the living creatures with their tireless sets of organs, pumping and twitching. Three of them. Home, Rat and a third one he doesn't know._

“ _Hey.” Rat is growing irritated, which is never good. Manageable, though. Home isn't scared of Rat._

_However, the new one... He wants that one to go._

_But it doesn't work._

“ _I know,” the third one says, impossibly gently, like he feels nothing around him. And he should, everyone_ feels _it if he wants that. “And I know he is. But...” The voice trails off, softly. Home inhales painfully._

“ _It could work. 'Tis a good place to hide. We can find others,” Home offers with bright, white hope._

_Rat snorts, though it's not a sign of choking. “Like hell.”_

“ _But,” the third voice continues, as if it had never left off. He calls it the Sun. “This is not a child. This is a monstrosity.”_

_Home makes a strangled sound, but doesn't argue. It sounds so weak when it stutters, “I could, someone could, find others for him, I swear he has light...”_

_The world shifts around him. The darkness is the blanket, it scratches on his cheek as his body is moved. Wrapped up. His feet both feel cold now as they dangle in the air. A hand, icy and moist, touches one as if to hold onto it, yet there is no strength. “Please,” Home rasps._

“ _Please,” Sun repeats. “I did not choose this. But I see now.”_

_Home should protest. Home is not weak and frail. Home has seen the moon and promised to say nothing._

_And yet Home lets go of him. There is nothing left that feels like_ home _now._

“ _You have been under his influence for too long,” Sun says. “I'm sorry.”_

_There is no response. The darkness is beginning to lift, slowly but surely. Rat notices, that's a problem. “Gotta run, Uri.”_

“ _It might be too late already,” the Sun states calmly, as if he_ sees _as well. “It rises.”_

_So he does._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Fun fact: Fahrenheit is the one who gives you the Ashmaker (or you take it from her corpse). It seemed fitting because she and Levi are quite alike: do what must be done, take no shit from anyone, and there's only one man whose word truly counts.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and for your patience. I was always going to finish this, but it ended up taking longer than I thought... and took twists and turns that I had never planned when I first began writing this crossover.  
> It may not seem like much, but I am very happy some people read and enjoyed this. Have a good day... and week. And life.


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